Southern Comfort
by kkann
Summary: Because in a zombie apocalypse, nothing ever goes as planned. Especially when someone shoots your teammate and living is more like surviving without promise of tomorrow. But you'll get there. Hopefully. /Gradual ExZ. Maybe NxR or RxF. Rating may change./
1. Don't stand too close without apologies

Southern Comfort.

**A/N:** Here I am tossing another story at you. ಠ_ಠ  
>But this one (despite how I don't really 'ship' too much when it comes to Left 4 Dead) is toying with the ZoeyEllis crush, and if you'd don't like that couple, please don't be hatin' and beratin' and just turn back now. Or go ahead and continue, but don't say I didn't warn you. [Plus, I find it a bit more plausible than Nellis, but I'm not judging.]  
>That said, this story isn't really even meant to be a romance to begin with, just Ellis getting the crap beat out of him. As usual. See how I work? :D<p>

I've only ever played The Passing once, and that was a few months back. I...don't remember most of the layout. So...I skimped on some things. Actually a lot of things. Just look at the end. xD  
>All the same, feel like I rushed quite a bit of this, but then again I probably shouldn't be doing this at 3:30 in the morning. And I need to work on including ALL of the characters more.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>1. <strong>Don't stand too close without apologies.

* * *

><p><em>"I could shoot you where you stand."<br>_**—**Zoey

* * *

><p>She didn't glare at him, exactly. It was more of a steely look that Nick had bestowed upon him from time-to-time whenever he started mentioning Keith and some asinine adventure he was sure none of them believed in. All the same, her eyes had his words tripping over themselves as he found himself muttering something about the weather.<p>

Blushing and stuttering like he was a god-damn twelve year-old finally plucking up the courage to confess his feelings to the first girl that he'd had full-on a crush on, Ellis turned away from the girl on the bridge, relinquishing the task of talking to Nick. The older man was shot down just as quickly as Ellis had been, though there had been no real exchange between her and the latter to begin with save for a quick 'hello' and 'beautiful weather, huh?'

Yeah, no. The bleak, darkening sky was not 'beautiful.'

All the same, the pretty woman with the loaded gun was sizing up to be a royal bitch.

Still, Ellis frowned; there was no use name-calling when he didn't even know her, and in the zombie apocalypse beggars couldn't be choosers when it came to making friends or alliances, at that. Besides, she was quite cute under that frown and those bruises. And damn if she wasn't quick with her tongue.

"…go to hell, Colonel Sanders!"

Apparently even the end of the world didn't improve upon the conman's already blunt first impressions. Ellis wanted to chuckle—he really did—, but the way Nick suddenly stiffened and looked about ready to beat the shit out of a Tank bare-handed was shoving his laugh right back down his throat. As it stood now, his shoulders twitched silently once or twice as the man and woman sized one another up. He still frowned at himself more so than anything, as Coach's response to the youngest man's dejected murmuring and asking someone else to speak before Nick had taken command was more than just a _little_ true.

"Tell me this boy ain't for real. Shit, okay..."

If he could spend the better part of two days blasting the brains out of zombies, then he could sure as hell talk to a _girl._ It would be like talking to Rochelle, except this one probably wouldn't hesitate to shoot him.

Dear God, he hoped she wouldn't shoot him.

Nick accused her of not being able to take a joke, and he could see her hand twitching toward her hip.

Oh sweet Jesus, maybe she _would_ shoot him.

The torchbearer in their rag-tag group, Coach, had taken over the charge of conversing with the girl on the bridge when she was replaced by a really awesome looking biker dude decorated in ink. Rochelle let out a quick giggle at the black-haired man's plight before slapping a hand over her mouth and making a big show of reloading her gun in response to the _look_ she was granted with by the guy in the formerly-white suit. Ellis' humor from the earlier jab at Nick's attire betrayed him when a harsh chortle shot out of him and then Nick's eyes were trying to set him on fire again.

Ellis was still blushing to the tips of his ears and generally ignoring the exchange between the apparent heads of the surviving groups, tuning out most their discussion for the most part to fiddle with the safety on his gun, all the while picking up key terms such as _generators_, _lost a man, _and _get some gas_. He frowned through his blush. Didn't _anything_ have enough gas? Running around the Liberty Mall atrium scrounging up cans of it for the Jimmy Gibbs had been a hassle enough, but now they had to grab _more?_

The young Southerner was snapped out of his brief mental war against those damn gas cans and turned a few shades darker when Coach ended the conversation with a firm nod, shouldering his gun.

"Okay, the boy says thank you." The other Savannahite's shoulders visibly slumped and he let out an embarrassed sound that wasn't so much as a whine as it was a whimper.

"Coach, come on, man!" Nick rolled his eyes and gave the younger man a firm shove in order to get him moving in the direction he wanted him to. Five seconds into their journey to the other side of the bridge and Ellis' face was about as red as the dried blood splattered across his shirtfront and he already knew that there was no way in hell that Nick was going to let him live his stammering down.

Still, he stopped and whirled around, forcing his comrade to step to the side at the last second in order to avoid a collision. He swore, but swiftly brushed passed him nonetheless. The Bull Shifter took a breath to calm his frizzled nerves, glancing up the bridge and letting his gaze linger on the girl for a moment before calling up to her.

"Hey! What's yer name?"

She visibly jerked and then craned her neck before she bent over to respond. "Zoey!"

Ellis grinned and turned to follow his un-amused friends around the street corner, murmuring to himself as he tried out the new taste of the combined syllables. "Zoey, Zoey, Zoey..."

* * *

><p>"Ah Christ, this is more depressing than the zombies."<p>

Nick slid another clip into Magnum, eying the sobbing former human being left behind at the altar with contempt. Coach 'hrmped' and let his eyes rove the nearby area in search of any abandoned wedding cake along with some way around the Witch without either pissing her off and having their guts ripped out and hung up for display. Ellis fidgeted nervously, his thoughts still on the exchange that had occurred at the bridge only a short while ago and kicking himself in the ass for his lack of people skills. He heaved a sigh and checked the shells in his shotgun while Rochelle nodded in agreement with the conman's annoyed statement.

"I don't know what she's crying about, but at least she got married..."

The lone woman in their group shot the younger a look as he pulled a few casings from his pocket to slide them into his gun. He glanced up at the hunched over depressed wreck as the others talked amongst themselves in an attempt to devise a plan rather than take action. Ah well, Ellis was gonna get shit done. Chocking the shotgun held firmly in his grip earned him a sidelong glance from the other three, but they made no move toward him until he started walking forward.

"Ellis, what the hell are you doing?" Said man went to respond to Nick's inquiry, but was interrupted when one of the cords lying on the ground before him caught on the toe of his work boot. He stumbled for a moment and a hand shot out to catch himself, only for it to smack the stereo system beside him and start blasting the Midnight Riders.

The mechanic swore as Nick cursed him ("Ellis! What did you just do?"), but he kept moving toward the Witch all the same in time with the beat of _Save Me Some Sugar._

"Ellis, get back here!" Rochelle whispered harshly, reaching out for him as their target started shifting. Her eyes widened by a fraction when she realized Ellis' intentions and she inched forward a few steps, one hand still outstretched for him.

What would Zoey do?

_"No, sleep will never take me...my mind is stuck on you..."_

"Ro!" He hissed, finally turning around and granting the lot of them with a hard glare. "I'm sorry, but _shut up._ I'll be back in a minute."

With that, he spun around and continued on his trek up the aisle, letting his favorite band guide him to what he only hoped wasn't he imminent demise. Nick made some quip about not patching him up for his stupidity, and Coach could only reach up to rub his forehead while Rochelle watched the boy walk away in bewilderment.

All right, so in retrospect, thinking about going up to cr0wn had sounded much more appealing than actually having to do it. But he was already five feet away and there really wasn't any chance of turning tail and running back without looking like a completely idiot; her sobs had also started to turn into ragged growls, anyway. All he had to do with take careful aim and make it count. So much easier said than done.

The Witch was shifting, and she spooked him when she began turning around, rewarded for her actions by the _KRAK! _of a shotgun and a few shells sizzling through her head.

Ellis could only stand and stare at her body blankly as he watched blood flow from the fresh wounds to congeal in her hair and the tattered remnants of the wedding dress Nick had jokingly said he should have snagged for—what was her name? Zoey?

"Kinda feel bad killin' this Witch. The whole thing just makes me feel uncomfortable." He was muttering to himself as the rest of his group approached him, the conman uttering a snide remark in regards to the honeymoon being over and Rochelle giving a low whistle of appreciation and complimenting Ellis with a twinge of left over worry still in her voice.

Coach thumped him on the back before moving on.

"You got problems, boy. Deep down problems."

Ellis frowned at the remark, but followed them all the same.

* * *

><p>"Why doesn't <em>anything<em> have enough gas?"

Ellis glanced over his shoulder at the man grinding his teeth as they bolted out of a rather dilapidated warehouse and made a beeline for the nearest generator, a gas can held securely in each of their arms. He didn't respond, instead hopping over a now dead, Infected body that Louis had just picked off. Dumping the can on the ground with a shrug he handed the duty of utilizing it to the older man and slid his shotgun off of his back to rob the next few zombies of their chance of clawing at Nick's back.

Speaking of which...

"Y'got a turd on yer shoulder, Nick."

He smirked and fired off another round while said man dropped his now empty canister on the stained pavement to reach for the one Ellis had left him. "I'm not even gonna look."

"Might wanna; could stain yer suit." Ellis' smirk grew and his gaze flicked to the jacket Nick was trying so desperately hard not to look at. It widened substantially at the sight of the _an-gul_ with a hunting rifle picking off the Smoker that had just poked around the corner. He squinted through the sudden green haze at Rochelle's silhouette and was instantly reminded of her playful invitation of a 'splash fight' down in the sewer not too long ago."Or, ya know, make it worse."

Nick would have punched him, had there been time.

_"I hate you, Ellis!"_

_"Well, I still like you, Nick."_

The entire journey through the sewer and the oh-so-educational underground historical tour had been rather uneventful, if 'uneventful' was defined as 'a shit load of zombies in shit water that was full of shit and smelled like shit and then another shitload of zombies in what was easily deemed an underground shit hole.'

Oh, no, a _historic _underground shit hole.

Yeah, that kind of uneventful.

The only highlight had been Ellis cr0wning that sobbing Witch bride and even that had a downside to it, seeing as he'd _of course_ had to blast the damned Midnight Riders and their _Save Me Some Sugar _hit while doing so.

Don't even get him started on that damn plank they'd had to cross. It took a solid ten minutes just to do so because a _certain someone_ decided to look down and become terrified of heights right then. Then again, with only two women left in the world, Nick decided he'd rather take his chances with her over the one on the bridge chucking Louis' stash of pills and pipe bombs at them. He could have sworn that last one had been aimed at his head had he not moved at the last minute.

And Jesus Christ, if the kid didn't shut up about that Zoey chick, Nick was going to take matters into his own hands and shut him up for good or at the very least kill any chance he might have had with her.

"I think we just need one more, and then we'll be all—" Nick stated, wiping his hands against one another (God forbid he do so on his pants) and then choking on his words on the roar they'd been pleased to get so far without hearing. Exchanging a shocked look with Ellis, they sprinted out into the street and his deft hands flew for his M16, preparing to blast the shit out of the oncoming beast.

He let Ellis fire off a round before giving his shoulder a quick shove and pointing in the general direction of a nearby shop front in response to the aggravated look of the man next to him. "I saw one in there when we were chasing that long-neck bitch earlier, go grab it!"

The younger of the two paused before nodding and darting off, clearly mentally warring over staying where he was and helping Nick and leaving him to fend for himself so he could run off and get the last gas can that they needed in order to lower that damn bridge. He cocked his gun and took careful aim, letting loose an entire magazine into the fleshy, pink mass, successfully slowing it somewhat and giving the mechanic the chance to perform his in-and-out operation. Loose pavement crunched under his feet as he reloaded his gun and glowered at the Tank lumbering down the street without any immediate cars to toss but with a whole hell of a lot of asphalt it could use instead.

Coach and Rochelle were just running up from filling their generator with Francis—or, as Nick liked to refer to him as, The Tattooed Disaster—yelling something about hating Tanks when there came a distressed yell from the building Ellis had just sprinted into.

_"Holy shit!"_

Uh, make that _two_ Tanks.

Nick barely had enough time to ceasefire before Ellis was suddenly sailing past him, newly acquired gas can tumbling from his grip as he slammed into the hard, unforgiving pavement with a shout, sliding as road rash flared up and down his arms. He groaned as sudden pain coursed through him, his head and back throbbing from the impact and finding that even trying to _breathe _was stressful. One of the others called out to him, but he wasn't necessarily sure _who _had done so when he found the Tank he'd previously encountered charging at him, obviously deciding that picking off the weakest first was much more appealing than going after the ones with the fully loaded guns.

Not that they weren't doing their part, seeing as the three he'd been traveling with had managed to put the first monster out of its misery before it had had the chance to do too much damage.

Trying to pick himself up off of the ground, Ellis grimaced and started scooting back as far as he could in order to put distance between himself and the hulking mass, giving the other six people with weapons ample time to kill it. He was forced to stop when he bumped into a concrete barrier behind him, panic flashing through his eyes as the Tank continued closing the gap between them with bullets riddling its back.

He couldn't help but scream when one of its meaty fists pounded into his chest, knocking the wind out of him and his head on the concrete.

Ellis screwed his eyes shut in pain and braced himself for another impact, doing the only thing he could in that instant: he threw his wounded arms over his face and prayed. "Kill it, kill it!"

It was sheer dumb luck that Louis had managed to unload his gun into the back of the Tank's skull, leaving it to totter back and fall to the ground with a resounding _thud_, its already loose tongue lolling idly. Ellis was panting and struggling just to breathe with every live nerve screaming at him while he tried and failed to regain his bearings. Realizing that his would-be executioner was dead he carefully attempted to sit up and opened his eyes, the faces of Nick and Rochelle swimming through his vision.

"Not so fast there, sport." The words were loud and echoed, causing one hand to gingerly shoot to his forehead and clutch at it in order to cease the insistent pounding and ringing in his ears and the other to his sternum. The Southerner wheezed, associating the feeling with that of a Boomer sitting on his chest as he tried to get his eyes to fully focus on the sight of the man before him with the uneasy look. "Damn, Overalls."

Ellis gave him a smirk as he and Coach carefully hoisted him to his feet much to his body's chagrin. Neither fully relinquished their grip on him, still reaching out toward him as he swayed on his feet.

There was the sound of a low growl and shuffling somewhere behind him and his saviors.

Rochelle's eyes flickered over his shoulder as Francis reloaded his gun, Zoey slowly approaching the latter with the hunting rifle she'd picked off a couple of Jockeys and Smokers with firmly gripped in her gently trembling hands. There was an low, angry moan from the shade behind him and someone shouted as it reached its peak.

"Nah, man, fer a minute there I thought I was a goner—"

_"Hunter!"_

Suddenly something exploded inside of him and he felt everything, anything, and then nothing at all.


	2. There are no tears, just pity and fear

Southern Comfort.

**A/N: **Google was my friend, and I still think I screwed some things up. ._.  
>You guys rock, though.<br>They're kinda out of character, but I felt like that's what would happen if one of them shot another.  
>Like Ellis. how can you shoot Ellis.<p>

Enjoy trying to decode this chapter, I suppose. e.e

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><p><strong>2. <strong>There are no tears, just pity and fear.

* * *

><p>"<em>Ya know, shooting me ain't gonna help nothin'."<em>  
><strong>—<strong>Ellis

* * *

><p>He didn't remember hitting the ground.<p>

(Someone was screaming and all Nick could do was watch.)

_Ah-hah-ow_

(Zoey's hands had released her gun to clench them around her face as realization set in and all Nick could do was watch.)

"Jesus Overalls, you're some sort of zombie bait, aren't you?"

(Ellis wheezes under the weight of the body on top of him and Nick is jolted into reality at the Hunter's dying mewl.)

_Holy shit ow_

(It is Coach that bends down to yank it claws from the young man's stomach before he unceremoniously shoves it aside, letting its mangled limbs splay out on the pavement.)

_Ah-hah-ah-hah I feel like 'm dyin'_

(He gurgles and pants, trying to suck air into his damaged ribs; Coach frowns and crouches beside Nick next to the boy, even though the latter laughs. It's more of a dry, pained chuckle, but it was still a laugh.)

_Holy mother of hell this _hurts_ like a _bitch

"Hang in there young'un we're gonna—"

(His eyes are screwed shut and the Bull Shifters logo rises and falls rapidly and in a rather unsteady manner. He struggles to breathe; he pales and starts to all but hyperventilate.)

_Oh god this hurts man what the hell happened holy shit Hail Mary am I supposed to pray someone please help me I mean this really hurts oh my god hey man am I dead I don't want to be dead please don't let me be dead I don't want to be dead_

"Ellis?"

(One hands trembles timidly to the right side of his chest and oh god it _hurts_.)

"Can't...can't...can't...can't..."

(Nick glowers, studying the mess before him as the former footballer next to him reaches for the young man's shoulders in order to prop him up so that they could get him standing again.)

"Breathe...breathe...can't..."

(Coach has just hooked his hands beneath the scapula when the cynic feels something akin to fury bubble inside of him as he pieces everything together.

"I can't...I can't...I can't..."

_Oh god what are you doing you're just making it worse please don't do this please stop please just don't please just_

_"Stop!"_

(He pleads, begs for them not to do this, but what 'this' is, he doesn't know.)

"Mhmmph…"

(He can't see. His eyes are open but he can't see. Everything looks the same—one giant shape, a blob, and he can't see.)

"We need to move him somewhere—carefully! Jesus!"

_If this is what it's like to live please kill me please don't make me do this haven't I suffered enough please I didn't do anything wrong I didn't mean to do it I just don't want to hurt any more_

(All he knows is that everything hurts and there was that Hunter and he needed to find Nick because there was that—)

"I need you to help me!"

"What the hell is—oh sweet Jesus."

_Where are the others where are they are they safe are they alright are they okay I need to find them wait please don't I need to go need to make sure they're okay Coach Rochelle Nick where are you Coach Rochelle Nick and the other guys Louis and that biker guy and that girl I think her name was Zoey Nick look out there's a Tank Nick look Hunter Nick look out Nick look run I can't have to help Nick 'm not a stupid hick_

And then Nick turned with that cold, steely look of murderous rage in his eyes with the younger man's blood on his cheek.

"Who the _hell_ just shot Ellis?"

* * *

><p>Ellis bucked once and then unconsciously slumped on the table they had managed to lay him down on after Coach and Francis had broken down a number of doors in search of something that would prove adequate for shelter and surgery.<p>

"Nnnmph,"

Nick stared down at the wounded man with the death grip on his sleeve, barking out orders and insults in turn and daring anyone to contradict him. He himself had a careful hand on the shoulders beneath him, feeling the muscles under the bare skin twitch. It had taken a good five minutes for them to worm the kid out of his shirt without causing him even more pain and even longer (too much longer, in Nick's opinion) for Coach and Francis to manage to ease the man with the wounded leg off of the bridge and down to them.

Ellis' pained pleas were making him nauseous.

"Please, help, Nick please help me please, please Nick help."

The man drew in a shallow breath, his eyes narrowing at the current cause of his comrade's duress.

Louis shot him an uneasy look from where he was propped beside him, leaning heavily on the table Ellis' blood was slowly seeping into and Francis, who looked rather out of place. The IT technician was nervously plucking through the contents of the drawer Rochelle had yanked out of the one of the bathroom cabinets in the small home (it probably was very nice before the all of the zombies and the bloodshed) and chewing at the inside of his cheek. He began rifling through it from where it sat on a stool someone had dragged over from the corner of the room for gauze and the main tool he'd been searching for in order to perform the operation.

He held the elongated pair of tweezers between his fingers experimentally, testing the feel of them in his hand and holding them up to what light they had. The few bulbs in the light fixture above them weren't much, but they would have to suffice if they wanted to save Ellis' life _now_.

They didn't have any sedatives so Ellis was going to have to endure.

Ellis screamed. He couldn't see, but he could hear and he could _feel. _But right then all knew was that everything hurt and there was that Hunter and he needed to find Nick and help Nick because there was that—

"Hunter on Nick! HunteronNickhunteronNick!"

_Let go let go letgoletgo gotta go helpNick Nickneedshelphaveto helpgetNickhelp save have to have to_

"Gotta get Nick, gotta get Nick Coach we gottagetNickthere's aHunteronNickand gottafindRochelle—"

There was weight on his chest and he couldn't hear (couldn't _breathe_) and the last thing he saw was Nick standing above him with a worried look and his mouth moving but there were no words.

He wanted to say something and then everything exploded.

* * *

><p>Upon Nick's cold encouraging, Louis gently touched the metallic tips to bullet hole in Ellis' chest and had to immediately jerk back at his cry, the boy rearing back and away before Nick's nails dug into his skin.<p>

"Coach, hold his legs. Vest Monkey, get his other arm." The conman stated coolly, having already secured a grip on a tattooed bicep as the others quickly shifted into position. Louis hissed in pain as he found one of his crutches absent, left with putting his weight on his good leg and on the wooden board holding the mechanic up.

Ellis cried out again as he tried to shift, and Rochelle had to leave the room with teary eyes and a hand clamped over her mouth. Zoey fidgeted awkwardly from where she stood against the wall, uncomfortable with the situation and about to approach the men when Nick's fiery gaze stopped her.

"You, _leave._"

She stared at him indignantly and was about to tear into him when there came a whimper from the man that she'd just shot and she thought it better to leave their verbal fight for another time. Zoey cast another glance at the bloody man again before following Rochelle's example.

"Oh, _shit_," Louis' breathy whisper snapped Nick back to attention, the former having temporarily cast aside the tweezers in order to wipe more blood away from the entry sight with a mushy pad of gauze and with some reluctance his sleeve. "Oh shit, shit, _shit._"

Coach and Francis exchanged a look, and Nick already knew the answer to his own question without having to ask it. He took a breath, ticking past it and onto his next inquiry.

"How many?"

Louis shook his head numbly, looking down at the blood pooling around his fingers. "I don't know, four maybe? And that's at the least."

Ellis' fingers slid from the sleeve of the weight jacket and dangled idly. The other three men visibly paled, but somehow one managed to retain some control over the situation. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath in through his nose, he spoke.

"Look, all you have to do is—"

"I—I can't do this man!" The bald, black man sputtered, his leg throbbing from the Witch wound as Ellis' breaths grew steadily weaker. Francis' grip on Ellis' left arm tighten with a light jerk. "I'm an IT guy! Not some kinda surgeon!"

Ellis whined softy, his entire being becoming quieter with each passing second. Coach's low voice rumbled down by feet where he had a firm grip on his legs.

"Son, if you don't then there's no hope for this kid."

Louis shut his mouth, resorting to chewing his lip as Francis remained uncharacteristically silent. Nick's eyes were burning angry holes into his temple and he reached for the tweezers.

"All right, hold him steady. I have a feeling this is going to take a while."

_Relax, man, it's just like Operation._

_Except if you screw up, you kill him._

_That's a pleasant thought._

* * *

><p><em>Bzz bzz er wha-ow this doesn't hey whrr whrr hey are you a horse<em>

He spent the duration of his surgery alternating between pleading for them to stop, asking them to kill him, and a series of wordless yells.

Every time Ellis screamed Nick's grip on him grew tighter, anchoring him and trying to soothe him in his own way while Louis tried to remove the fragments of the bullet without losing his lunch. Any words of comfort from Coach were lost amidst the pitiful, feverish yowls and the flail of limbs if Ellis was able to free them from the men trying to hold him down.

_what the hell you're a horse that ain't right you're supposed to be a person_

"Please stop please don't it hurts,"

_that's stupid_

"Please oh God don't pleasepleaseplease,"

Occasionally the blue eyes would flutter open, rimmed red from the tears streaming from all the pain he was in and one more so from its currently broken blood vessels, but their gaze would never linger for more than a moment.

The only thing that registered in his poor, fragile mind was that he was shirtless and being held down by four grown men.

_I don't have a problem with leaving the car _and_ you behind. Okay, Ellis?_

"There's just the two left—"

_Hell, we can even leave Ellis behind to make room for y'all._

"Nnmph,"

_Just two left what's just two left mean wait oh god does that mean did they leave me please don't leave me why would you leave me I ain't done nothing I was just trying to help please come back come back don't leave me here I don't want to die_

"Just hang in there Ellis, we're almost done here."

_Coach done here Coach is done Coach is leaving Coach can't do that why would Coach do that Coach come back Coach I won't let you_

_We can even leave Ellis behind_

_We can leave Ellis_

_We can leave him behind_

_We can leave him_

_Let's leave him_

_I don't want him_

_Don't leave me don't leave me_

_Leave Ellis behind_

"…dunleaveme." He twisted his pulsating head in Nick's hands, a pounding somewhere behind his eyes and something in the back of his mind telling him that it just wasn't worth it.

And then Nick's fingers were on his cheek, gently slapping him into reality and Ellis chose to keep fighting because he had something to fight for. If the others were alive, then that meant he had to be too because otherwise he didn't have anything else.

"You ain't gonna leave me, righ'?" The words were mumbled through thick lips, Louis watching the two men at the end of the table, hand hovering over the open wound with two bullet fragments still buried in it. The vision of Nick's face swam before Ellis as he struggled to focus.

"No," Nick's voice was soft for a change before it grew steadily stronger. "We're not leaving you, Ellis."

"You told...the…the bridge you were…you were..." Ellis' mouth continued to move even after the words were uttered, feeling too tired and pained to stop them. His head was sent spinning and the dark-haired man shook his own slowly. Nick propped Ellis' concussed skull in his dirty palms as they all listened to his distressed breathing, his neck crackling as it swiveled and he tried to get comfortable before he lost consciousness again, his skin a bit too warm to the touch.

"Y'know all those things I said about you, Ellis? I was just joking…"

Nick's thinly veiled apology was the last thing he heard before he threw his head back and screamed the moment Louis plunged his fingers back into his body.

* * *

><p>"Shit, last one, shit," Louis breathed, perspiration dripping down his brow as a result of his overly stressful circumstances and his own pain. At least in some ways it might be lessened somewhat when he was successful in extracting the last of the bullet from Ellis' body and then bandaging him together.<p>

If he didn't die of blood loss, that was.

"Please'mbeggingyoustop,"

The metal prongs in his hands and shrapnel clenched between them was slick with blood in his shaking hands as Ellis thrashed about, bucking against the hands holding him down as he howled through the pain and misery etched across his face and body. It was Francis and Coach that quickly began to go about bandaging him up, preparing to seal the wound and prevent any further bleeding on Ellis' part.

Louis wanted to smile and give a victory whoop, he really did.

But then Rochelle came rushing in with Zoey hot on her heels, cloth and bandages waded in her arms, almost as a peace offering to Nick's glare when Ellis suddenly stopped moving and let his previously writhing body collapse.

His eyes rolled back in his head with a low moan, giving Nick a front row seat of their whites as a breath gurgled itself out of his throat.

Rochelle almost shrieked when Ellis' body suddenly seized.

Francis all but yanked Nick away from the boy as another spasm shot through his body, leaving the other six to stare in utter bewilderment, unable to do anything except watch and maybe pray. From the jerking motions they could only hope that he didn't do more damage to his already broken body and it was a miracle that he didn't flounder off of the makeshift surgical table.

A heart-wrenching moan gurgle out of Ellis' throat and Rochelle wanted nothing more than to go over to him and take him in her arms with promises of everything being all right. Zoey could do little more than stand by her post at the doorway and watch with guilt gnawing at her.

"Nnnhhh,"

Francis dug through the pockets of his prized vest, eventually pulling out a lighter and his pocket knife as Ellis was forced to ride out his seizure on his own. He couldn't help but grimace at the tortured expression on the young man's face, finally able to produce a small flame with which he heated his blade.

There was a crack as one of the Southerner's joints popped, and then he grew still.

They were on him like vultures. He would have screamed had he been awake when the biker cauterized the wound, offering an apology for the pain and muttering something about hating having to do so, but instead he only shook, caught too deep somewhere in the in-between of life and death to do much else other than unconsciously gasp.

A needle and thread had been procured from the bathroom drawer rifled through earlier, and deft, nimble hands sewed the wound tightly shut just for extra measure as someone else ran their hands through his sweaty hair, murmuring bits of nothing to him and trying to provide reassurance through his pain and blossoming fever. A bottle of pills were shoved into someone's hand and they were about to shove some down his throat when they all realized that something was terribly wrong.

Nick had never liked performing CPR.

It was exceedingly difficult perform CPR on a chest as badly damaged as Ellis'.

Air was forced into his lungs a few too many times for their liking, and it took far too long to garner the response they were looking for.

Ellis sputtered and let out a weak cry, eyes half-open and bleary as a pair of soft hands cupped his head, others propping him up for the other two to finishing bandaging him, one assessing the scraps from the road rash running down his arms while he idly rubbed at his own sore limb.

He glanced up with an unsteady breath, and then he could see her anxious face staring back down into his with an ethereal halo of hair cast by the dimming light above them.

Ellis smiled and then let the darkness take him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Alternate ending:  
>Nick bans Zoey from seeing Ellis for the rest of the night as punishment for shooting him.<p>

Actually, Nick pretty much holds a grudge against her for the rest of the story, being a sourpuss and that overly-protective big brother type.  
>I mean, if someone I hardly even knew shot my friend, I'd be pretty pissed.<p>

ಠ_ಠ What.


	3. Like a stranger on a foreign shore

Southern Comfort.

**A/N:** You guys are awesome! :D I thought the last chapter was pretty much rubbish, you all made me feel better. I like this chapter, though. XD  
>When I said 'gradual ExZ,' I meant gradual. They've barely seen each other in the past two chapters, and this one's no different. At least come Chapter 4, they'll actually interact. .u.<br>—Look at Zoey, being all out of character. ;3;

Tempest Hound—no, I don't think you're a liar! And I really am sorry about your dog.

Fatty Waffey—keep the please. I'll take the Ellis.

* * *

><p><strong>3.<strong> Like a stranger on a foreign shore.

* * *

><p><em>"Don't worry, I'll get your ass out of this mess."<em>  
><strong>—<strong>Nick

* * *

><p>Ellis spent the next four hours of his life fighting for it in a delirious state of mind. During the few rare instances he managed to peek through the feverish haze he began asking irrational, half-formed questions and continued to do so until pills or water were shoved down his throat.<p>

Nick spent the next four hours of _his_ life guarding Ellis'.

Zoey wasn't let into the room. Nick wouldn't allow it.

He let out a low sigh, glancing at the injured mechanic out of the corner of his eye, finally noticing how naked and young he looked without his cap on his head. The conman turned it over in his hands once more before reaching out and gingerly setting in on the bed beside Ellis. His nose twitched in his sleep as he grabbed at a weak fistful of the blanket wrapped around him with a light shiver, carefully propped up against what few pillows there were in the room.

Nick ran a quick hand through his hair from where he was leaning over in his chair, glancing up to survey the small bedroom he and the other man were holed up in.

A quick search of the house after their less than stellar surgical performance had greeted the lot of them with three bedrooms (one being the entirety or the upstairs floor) and two bathrooms with what appeared to be a working shower. Nick had been all too glad to leave the morbid scene in the dining room for the ten minutes it had taken for him, Coach, and Francis to transport Ellis to one of the first floor beds in order for him to rest comfortably. The kid's pathetic, unconscious whimpering had only made getting him through the doorway all that more difficult.

Coach had kicked a wastebasket toward the head of the bed as a precautionary measure while Rochelle dabbed the cloth she'd been wringing through her hands against Ellis' sweaty forehead. Francis had stepped away from the bed, leaving Louis to lean awkwardly against the door-frame with one leg in the air, Zoey simply standing there numbly, unable to look away from the gently contorted face of the man she'd shot. A chair had been procured from the bedroom desk by Nick as he took up residence at the foot of the bed, wordlessly taking over the role of watching Ellis through the night.

The glare penetrating his cold, indifferent mask forced Zoey out of the room.

At the moment Nick's head was bobbing, dozing to the lullaby of Ellis' somewhat steady breathing and the murmurs drifting through the rest of the house. He let out a breath as he sat up, his back cracking against the burning ache between his shoulder blades from having sat hunched over for so long. Pulling his elbows away from where they rested on his knees, Nick shifted around to find a new position, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded and stretching his legs before him with a frown.

Stupid brat.

No, bitch. After everything on the bridge and up to now, she'd earned that title. (In his eyes, at least. Ellis still probably thought she was some damn angel.) Besides, she'd shot Ellis. Who the hell shoots _Ellis?_ Granted, Nick had wanted to on a few occasions over the past two days, but that was only because he wanted to shut up the kid he barely knew.

And if anyone was going to shoot Ellis, it was going to be Nick. How dare Zoey steal that right from him.

"Bitch," Nick smirked to himself; Ellis' mouthed twitched into a frown in his sleep.

* * *

><p>Francis let out a snort from where he was reclined on the couch with Coach at the other end, his head bobbing slightly at something in his dreams. Louis shot him a look from where he sat in the kitchen with his leg propped up on another chair before turning back to the woman sticking her head into the cupboard beneath the sink. He didn't question Rochelle when she pulled out a bucket and set it into the sink.<p>

"Do you think it's too much to ask for running water?" She asked with a small smile, to which Louis chuckled. The rusty knobs twisted with a few squeaks of protest and ill-use, the faucet sputtering for a few moments before a steady stream of water began trickling out.

"Warm water would be a miracle," The IT technician said, earning a giggle from the woman filling the bucket halfway with tepid water, hoping it was sanitary. Rochelle inclined her head in agreement, looking forward to the idea of testing the shower and seeing how much blood and what-not she could wash out of her hair. Hopefully doing laundry wouldn't be too much of a stretch—washing away the Boomer bile would be beautiful. Ellis' own clothing sat in a mangled heap on the floor, which the producer pointedly ignored for the time being as she bit at her lip at the sight, yanking the bucket out of the sink.

Zoey thoughtlessly picked at the wooden seat beneath her off to the side, observing quietly as the other woman knelt by Louis' feet, the bathroom drawer from earlier by her knees. There was silence save for the shuffled of Rochelle's feet as she stood and scoured for a dish rag in one of the many forgotten kitchen cabinets and then the slow shuffle of fabric when she returned and began rolling up Louis' pant leg in order to redress the wound.

"Rochelle." The former college student rasped when she finally recalled her name, watching her carefully tear away crudely wrapped gauze that her and Francis had rushed. The bald man hissed as air caressed his injury, knitting Rochelle's brow. She hummed in response to Zoey, too caught up in her delicate work to offer much else. Zoey licked her lips as swallowed, uncomfortable with the way she was acting right then.

Louis' gaze flickered over to her just as Rochelle removed the last of the dingy bandages.

"I didn't...I really didn't mean to, I swear." She stuttered, inwardly berating herself for acting the way she was. First the bitchiness on the bridge, and now the awkward stammering as she tried to apologize for herself. "I was aiming for the Hunter, but then he moved at the last second..."

Rochelle said nothing, dipping the dish towel she'd found in the bucket before moving to clean the gashes on Louis' leg. He gasped as the rather lukewarm water made contact with him. Zoey watched some of the drops form rivulets against the dark skin until they fell to the floor with an apathetic _drip_.

"I never meant to shoot Ellis." She continued. "You have to believe me, that was the last thing on my mind. I know how I came across back on the bridge and I know how I must have sounded, but please." Louis watched her take a breath curiously, trying to ignore the way the woman by his feet was gently shifting his calf around in order to fully survey it. "We'd just...we'd just lost someone, someone really important, and Louis was injured and I just...I was a bitch, and I'm sorry. I am so, so, sorry."

The rag fell into the bucket with a dismal _plop_ and Rochelle plucked the last of the bandage roll left over from what had been used on Ellis.

Zoey felt some sort of unwanted emotion build up in her chest as (at least, in her opinion) Rochelle ignored her.

"What are you apologizing to me for?" She stared at the older woman blankly as the latter went about reapplying gauze and adhesive to cover the Witch markings on Louis. The dark-haired girl's back bristled in indignation, about to retort and take back her wounded apology when Rochelle spoke again. "Sweetie, you don't have to apologize to _me_ for anything. Hell, if I was the last woman on Earth and had to travel around with Francis, I'd be pretty bitchy too." She muttered something under her breath about Nick as she finished off the rest of the bandage. Louis sighed.

Rochelle turned to face Zoey and ended up surprising her with a smile.

"I know it probably looks like we're all pissed at you—and don't get me wrong, we are considering how you just shot our friend but—" The producer held up a hand to cut off the younger's interruption before it began. "Let me finish. Yes, we are pissed, but at the same time we're just glad that he's safe and alive."

"But he could still die," Zoey murmured, the dim light from the lone bulb above them casting shadows across her already darkened face. Rochelle's smile grew sadder.

"Honey, we could all die. We're not exactly out of the woods just yet." She rolled the torn pant leg back down, giving a firm nod to the whispered 'thanks' she received. "Besides, this is Ellis we're talking about here. Boy could probably get sat on by a Boomer and not feel it." There was a quiet chuckle as she put her hands to her knees and then pushed herself to her feet. "He's got a pretty high pain threshold—how, I don't know, but I think it might have something to do with that weird Keith buddy of his. But if you want to apologize to anyone, it should be Ellis."

Rochelle rolled her neck, finally acknowledging how tired she was. The clock that once hung on the wall by the stove was leaned haphazardly on a counter, and she frowned as she found that it read 12:47. She stared at it for a few moments in wonder, unsettled by the realization that the idea of time had slipped her mind over the past two days. There was no morning, noon, or afternoon—there was just death, Infected, and an endless night.

"But Nick—" Zoey's voice caught her attention and she sighed with a roll of her eyes.

"Nick's an ass. Always has been, always will be, as far as I know." She smirked at the thought, though she'd only met him just recently on hotel rooftop watching their salvation shimmer away in a glint of metal in the sunlight. "I'll admit that it's a bit weird that he's being so protective of Ellis, but don't let him get to you. If I had he'd either be missing his head or his balls right now."

Both women chuckled—Rochelle not quite as halfheartedly—and Louis shifted uncomfortably.

At last Zoey got up and stood on the legs that she'd been sitting on for the better portion of the night, sitting within earshot of the Southern boy's coughs and soft groans and resisting the urge to throw her hands over her ears.

"Thanks," She said with a nod, earning another smile from the other two.

Zoey turned and walked out of the kitchen and Rochelle tried to bite back her dread.

* * *

><p>"Nnnnhh..."<p>

The timid moan from the bed sent Nick for a loop momentarily, tossing his mental hand of cards into the air and fluttering to his feet. He sat up instantly, watching Ellis for another few heartbeats as the lips trembled softly around unspoken words. The conman's hand clenched into a fist around the material of his pants as a shiver ran down the other man's spine. He made to sit back in his chair and simply watch the Southerner before he let out a rasping gasp, his eyes opening slowly, tongue lashing out against dry lips.

"Nniii..."

Nick stood at that, carefully making his way around the bed to stand next to cap-less boy. The muscles around his eyelids moved just so, making it clear that he was trying his damnedest to make sense of everything around him, his bearings and mind still thrown off balance. Wet lips smacked together as he blinked, squinting in the near-darkness, the only light that being cast from the kitchen not far off and the next room. Ellis moved his bandaged arms in an attempt to sit up, only to feel Nick's hand on his shoulder gently pushing him back down.

"Not so fast there, killer." He said, earning a frown from the young man as he tried again. "Knock it off, Ellis."

He grunted but complied, laying back and waiting for Nick to remove his hand. His eyes stared blankly before him.

"How are you feeling?" Nick asked him, the question redundant yet routine at the moment. The younger man closed his eyes as he tried to think, his face screwing up in pain. He found forming one word answers much easier than long-winded sentences for the time being, unable to elaborate.

"Hurt," He ground out in exhaustion and the other man nodded in response. Nick pulled away his hand and curled down his pinky and ring finger, holding his thumb over them before holding his hand in front of Ellis.

"How many fingers?"

Ellis opened his eyes with a sigh through his nose, regarding the digits carefully for a few seconds of silence. His brow knit. "Fingers?"

Nick didn't even warrant him with a response when the injured man suddenly fell asleep again, his wounded chest rising slowly beneath the covers as he breathed. The elder glowered, his two extended fingers bending to form a fist. At first he hardly noticed Zoey timidly creep into the room, keeping his back to her. He took in a breath when a floorboard creaked under her foot and sneaker.

"How is he?" She asked quietly, being sure to maintain some distance between them in case he turned on her with fists flying. Instead, his back straightened and he reached up to adjust his collar accordingly. Zoey almost thought they were making progress until he turned around to face her.

"Oh he's just fine." Nick stated coldly, Ellis shuddering briefly behind him. Her gaze flickered to him and then back to the poker face before her. Her somewhat nervous expression did not match his.

"I only wanted to make sure—"

"Make sure what?" The older man cut in, his eyes narrowing just enough to set her on edge. "That he's not dead yet? That you don't have to feel guilty just yet?" Heat rose in Zoey's cheeks as she formed a fist, about to verbally lash at him when he continued speaking. "What the hell is wrong with you? I mean, Jesus Christ, I know the kid's annoying, but to go and _shoot_ him? Where the hell's the logic in that? I'll admit I've wanted to a couple times, but I've never acted on it."

He ran his hand through his hair with a dark snicker. "Holy shit, you're a hell of a shot, though. Not that that's a compliment right now." He glanced at Ellis for a moment and then back at her. "Did you know that the _entire time_ we were trying to get to the other side of the bridge he wouldn't shut up about you? The whole time all I heard was a bunch of this sappy shit about the girl on the bridge who looked pretty bad ass with a gun and do you know what he called you?"

Nick's voice was dripping with malice. "He called you an _angel_. A god-damn _angel_. And you shot him. Now how does _that_ make you feel?"

Zoey flushed at his words. Yes, there were the hints of some attraction between her and the mechanic, but she'd never put much stock into it, assuming that they'd all part ways soon enough and that even if they'd _really_ interacted with one another, it would only have been to watch one each other's backs to pick off zombies. She'd seen the way he'd appeared flustered and stumbled over his words upon their first meeting, but she'd attributed that to general nerves or poor people skills. How was she supposed to know that Ellis had developed some sort of crush on her in all of the maybe five minutes they'd spoken, not counting her telling off Colonel Sanders?

Nick, however, interpreted her silence negatively, quickly assuming that she felt nothing for Ellis except for responsibility for her actions.

"Get out."

It took all of the thinly veiled threat and the narrowed eyes to finally break through her mental daze, leaving her to once more stand awkwardly by the door and gnaw at her lip and the unsaid apology. She opened her mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a weak whine from Ellis, his head twisted in their direction in what could have been seen as a pout, apparently bothered by their one-sided argument in his subconscious. The girl went to move toward him, only to be stopped by a subtle movement from Nick.

If it was possible, Ellis frowned a bit further.

With one last glance at the feverish man on the bed, Zoey, wrapping her arms around herself, turned and left the room.

Nick turned and punched the wall next to him as hard as he could.


	4. As I'm waiting around for you

**A/N:** So I have just realized something: as of now this story doesn't really have an end in sight. To be completely honest, at first I was just planning on maybe twenty chapters tops, but now...Let's just say that I have a lot of ideas that I was tossing around before this story and I'd always wanted to use them somehow but didn't quite know how, so they get to end up being incorporated into this one here. So yeah, this is gonna be a fairly long story. It's gonna be awesome. Not really, I mean I guess. I dunno. xD

Chapter titles are also all song lyrics from various Death Cab for Cutie songs. c:  
>But of course I was listening to <em>'Set Fire to Rain'<em> by Adele repeatedly while I wrote this chapter. Especially at the end, even if it doesn't fully fit the story just yet. Hmm.

As _IKillZombiesforFun_ pointed out to me, I did in fact change the second chapter, and this is just a note saying so. It's only the beginning, but I wanted to make it intentionally more confusing. So there you go. :D  
>Yay some [one-sided?] Ellis &amp; Zoey interaction finally. (annddd Rock? [It's what I call NickRochelle. hush] orrrr do you wish for Frochelle? D: I'm biased toward the former. win.)

* * *

><p><strong>4. <strong>As I'm waiting around for you...

* * *

><p>"<em>You're gonna have to suck it up. We need you a little bit longer.<em>_"  
><em>—Rochelle

* * *

><p>Nick hissed and Rochelle punched him. Not as hard as he'd hit the plaster in the other room, but enough to get his attention and make him stop fidgeting because it was making her work all the more difficult.<p>

"You're an idiot," She muttered under her breath only because she didn't want to disturb the others who were splayed around the first floor in various positions as they each tried to catch a few hours of sleep in their own right. The conman scoffed at the remark with a snort, running his free hand through his hair as he watched the woman assess his other with its newly bruised knuckles.

"Tell me something I don't know. Coming down here was a mistake. Should've holed up in Vegas or something; at least things would have been interesting." He took a moment to glance around them, finding that Rochelle had apparently taken up residence in the kitchen for the time being, taking on the role of nurse as she bandaged everyone together. From his vantage point at the small table he had a straight shot of the living room—or what was left of it. Coach and Francis had each claimed opposite ends of the couch a few hours beforehand, leaving Louis propped up on a recliner that looked like it had seen better days.

He had no idea where Zoey was and quite frankly he didn't care.

"Like this isn't interesting?" The producer scoffed, fingertips gently tracing the outlines of forming bruises. "That wasn't what I was talking about and you know it."

In all honesty he was too tired to roll his eyes. It was one-thirty in the morning and all he wanted to do was find a bed or some other sort of cushions to pass out on. Taking a nap in the Jimmy Gibbs Jr. had worked wonders on contorting his spine into various unorthodox yoga positions. It took a few minutes for him to register that Rochelle was waiting for a response.

Nick sighed, partly exasperated. "What do you want me to say, Ro? That I'm sorry I snapped at her?"

He turned to level his gaze with her and was met with a look just as tired as his, if not more so. The Charger back at Liberty Mall had clearly done a number on her, leaving her simply too exhausted for her liking. Rochelle let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, ducking her head back down in order to wrap what little self-adhesive bandage they did have left around the hand the man was still trying to inch away from her. Another small pile of larger strips had been composed off to the side that would be used to redress Ellis' wound for however long they were stuck where they were.

"No, I'm just saying that you don't need to be an ass to her all the time. Getting pissed isn't going to help Ellis any." She murmured before the straight lips became a frown as she finished and leaned back to admire her handiwork. "At this rate we're going to be replacing stitches with band-aids and prayers."

The conman had already told her that she didn't have to do what she was doing, that his bruises would heal and things would just all fine and dandy, but she clearly wasn't going to have any of it.

"So now what? Acting like everything's all fine and dandy isn't going to help him either." He eyed her work for a moment. "Praying isn't going to solve anything, Rochelle. The only thing that'll help Ellis right now is some clean gauze and good drugs."

She glared at him, but he hardly felt it. "You're an asshole."

"I know," Nick replied offhandedly with a one-shoulder shrug. Stating the obvious wasn't going to improve their situation any, but right now it was killing some time and it gave him something to focus on other than the kid with a concussion and a hole in his chest and it wasn't necessarily a good idea to leave him alone for the time being. Rochelle didn't seem too pleased by his response, but he really wasn't up to discussing his past life and non-too stellar habits. If anything, he wanted nothing more than to let the conversation drop and die, left to be picked over some other time when they weren't busy fighting for their lives. Maybe he'd stick around for some story-swapping before he split.

If he split.

Inwardly, he groaned, reaching up to rub a hand along the side of his face, the roughness of the stubble brushing against his palm. Although she was busy picking through the rest of the bathroom cabinet that no longer had all that much to offer, it was still obvious that she was still waiting for him to elaborate.

Women.

"Look, Rochelle," Nick began, his voice dropping down a few decibels, piquing her interest as he leaned forward, not wanting his words to be overheard. It was made rather clear that what he was about to say he not only didn't want repeated, but also to remain solely between the two of them. "I don't trust her. Hell, I don't trust _them_. _However_, as it stands now we're stuck with them, so we're all just going to have to grin and bear it, so to say. That doesn't mean I'm going to like it. Louis? Yeah, I like the guy, sure, but the grease ball biker that's taken a liking to you? Not so much." Rochelle grimaced, a bit put-out by his words, but she listened all the same. "As for the Zoey chick Ellis wouldn't shut up about? She just shot him in the chest—it's going to be a friggin' _miracle_ if he makes it through the night—and you suddenly want me to get all buddy-buddy with these people? Explain that logic, because I'm _dying_ to know."

Malice had crept into his tone as he continued, and something in his eyes had hardened. Rochelle didn't like it.

"You trust us," She said, blunt and true. The man almost shrugged again.

"I trust you enough, Coach maybe so-so, but Ellis? Hell, I'm still not sure about him." Nick ran a hand through his hair again, knocking a few loose strands into his face which the producer stared at numbly for a moment, utterly bothered by his honesty. "Ro, we don't know these people, how can you expect—"

"You don't know us either." She shot back, her voice quiet but firm. "Stop being an arrogant asshole, Nicholas." Rochelle sat up and made to stand, only for a slender and bruised hand to curl around her wrist, jostling the bangles. "Let go—"

"Your favorite color is purple, you bite your thumbnail when you're nervous, you find Ellis' stories just as annoying as I do, Depeche Mode isn't really your favorite group, and you absolutely hate it," He paused, leaning forward and closing the short gap between them, his smug face only inches from hers, breathing almost tickling her nose. "When someone gets so close to you."

Rochelle frowned and placed her hands on his white-suited chest, giving him a firm shove backwards. He chuckled in response, only infuriating her further.

"You would too if someone smelt so much like shit and _ass._" With that final remark she stood, letting the legs of the chair grate on the floor behind her as she shot up, completely disregarding the amount of noise she was making as she made a beeline for the doorway and the staircase leading to the upstairs bedroom. "Goodnight, Nick."

Nick's quiet laughter died the minute he heard the door to the other room close, and he was left staring at the methodically ticking clock as it mocked him.

* * *

><p>Zoey really hadn't meant to eavesdrop. Honestly. It had just been exceedingly hard <em>not<em> to when she'd found herself stuck at an impasse.

She'd wedged herself in the corner of the living room, able to keep watch of the three sleeping men (none of which had appeared bright enough to claim the spare bedroom, it seemed) and the door open ajar to where Ellis lay. She'd been trapped there once they'd started talking, seeing as any movement on her part would have made enough noise to garner their attention and curiosity, and she had enough of the former from the man to last her for awhile. It hadn't been her fault that her vantage point had been within earshot of the kitchen and she'd just so happened to overhear everything Nick had to say.

Oh, screw him. So what if he didn't trust her, Francis and Louis. She didn't trust him that much herself, and it seemed Rochelle still had her doubts. Besides, Ellis had trusted him and look where that had gotten him.

...Alright, so it had been her and not Nick that had shot him in the end, but it wasn't as if she'd meant it.

She had tried to apologize to him, she really had, but when he'd turned on her with that threat she could just _see_ in his eyes...

He was just being a bitch and making things difficult.

Zoey smirked to herself at the thought, but it died the instant she remembered why the man in the next room was being so bitchy. For the time being she remained rooted to her post, keeping her ears peeled and waiting for some all-clear signal that gave her the go-ahead to try to make some headway in making up for what she'd done.

What would Bill have done?

That thought in mind she cursed to herself in a harsh whisper, leaning her head back against the wall behind her, closing her eyes firmly at the tears pricking beneath her eyelids. _Stop it, damn it._ She truly hadn't had a chance to digest their loss, half expecting the Vietnam veteran to come forcing his way through the barricaded door muttering something about horseshit and telling them to all get their asses in gear because they still had somewhere to be, damn it all.

A few minutes had passed before she finally caught herself staring at the door willfully.

With a sigh she forcefully shoved remorseful thoughts of the past to the back of her mind, replacing them with remorseful thoughts of the present. Bill would have gotten up off his ass. Bill would have gotten things done. Bill would have...would have...

Bill wouldn't have shot someone.

Zoey dug the heel of her palm into her eye. Of _course_ Bill would have. Hell, he almost did back at Millhaven, something she still hadn't forgiven him or herself for. She still didn't understand _why_. _Why_ Bill hadn't helped them, why he hadn't just given her a _chance_, they could have _saved_ them. She needed to know _why_ they had been left for dead when they could have been _alive_.

(Ellis hadn't experienced that and part of her hated him for it.)

But Bill would never have shot her. Bill would have shot a thousand other people, but never her. So why Ellis? Why had she shot Ellis?

Because...well, she didn't know why. She hadn't shot to kill _him_, but the Hunter that had pounced at him. How was she to have known her bullet was going to sail through the mottled body and imbed itself in the country boy with an apparent crush on her? Which brought up another interesting point...

Ellis. What did she think of Ellis, hmm hmm hmm. Well...she didn't know Ellis, and from what she'd heard from Nick he seemed to hold her in a fairly high regard. A bit strange considering how they'd exchanged maybe a total of ten words or so—four of them asking her what her name was—but beggars really couldn't be choosers. His voice had a certain twang to it that she wasn't overly familiar with but found herself somehow drawn to. He was bit awkward, sure, but great with a gun and from what she could tell very protective of his friends.

And damn if the Specials didn't seem fond of him. At least that would give them something in common to talk about. A starting point, to some regard.

Shifting quietly into a crouch, Zoey took a breath, meaningfully eying the floorboard that Rochelle had almost tripped over on her way out of the kitchen as she heard silence from the room. The only noises to greet her eardrums were the silent snores from the men on the couch and shuffling as the woman upstairs situated herself accordingly. There was nothing coming from Nick's direction to work with.

Taking that as a go-ahead, the former college student stood slowly, rolling her shoulders and twisting in order to crack her back. It popped once, and she froze as she awaited a reaction that never came.

She put good use to the moniker 'track suit' and all but bolted to Ellis' room.

There was no adrenaline rush, no smug ha-ha-look-what-I-got-away-with, but a simple exhalation of air and the gentle _click_ as the door shut behind her.

Zoey quickly learned that the only light in the room had been that coming from the kitchen, and by closing the door she had cast both her and Ellis into utter darkness. Squinting as her eyes adjusted, the young woman staggered forward, reaching out and letting her fingers fumble for something she could use to steer herself in the young man's general direction, his labored breathing serving as her guide. At almost two in the morning she could see very little other than the outline of the nightstand she'd almost plowed into the and the slow rise and fall of the blankets donning the Southerner's otherwise bare chest, save for the bandages.

Once she finally reached the side of the bed she stopped, glancing down at the sleep form fighting through a haze and whatever throes of death that were trying to grab at him. She caught herself at the last minute, the backs of her fingers ghosting along the side of his cheek.

Even though she wasn't much one for looks, under all of the dirt and blood he was a bit cute, she had to admit.

He subconsciously turned his head toward her, unwittingly seeking out the contact. Zoey almost giggled, a light smirk creeping across her features as she brushed her hand across his heated face as she continued her study of it, perching on the edge of the bed.

She gently traced the scar across the bridge of his nose in the bits of pale moonlight streaming through the boarded window before running her fingertips along his forehead. A gentle mewling sound came from the back his throat and she paused in her ministrations, thinking that she'd either done something else wrong or that he was in even more pain than he had been to begin with.

"Ellis..." Zoey murmured uncertainly after a moment, wanting to calm him down before the feverish drivel started up. "Ellis, shh..."

The noises puttered out once her hand began moving again, accompanied by the soft sound of her voice as she tried to placate him. Angry, guilty tears welled up in her eyes only to be brushed away by the back of her free hand before she started crying in earnest.

A few stray tears struck his face and his calmed visage grew into a light frown.

"Ellis, I'm sorry...Oh god, I am so, so sorry..." She took a shaky breath, bottled up emotions from the past few days and weeks finally catching up with her, and she paused a few times, wiping away tears and whispering her apologies. "Ellis, I never meant for this to happen, and I need you to believe that. I don't care if Nick does or not, but you...I don't know. After what Nick told me I guess I'm not really sure what to think about you. I mean..." The girl trailed off, her brow twitching downward as she digested her own words. "Could we maybe...play it by ear? Not that I don't like you or something, I just..."

She pulled her hands away to run them down her face, dotting them tears and dirt.

"What the hell, Ellis. I don't know. Is this revenge for shooting you? By putting me in this awkward spot?" Zoey chuckled lightly at her own joke before turning her attention back to the man on the bed.

Briefly, she warred with herself for a few minutes, the rational part of her telling her that it was a stupid idea and required a lot more thought and the other telling her that what the hell she had nothing to lose and following through with the idea couldn't possibly hurt anything.

She went with the latter.

Zoey wasn't entirely sure why she kissed Ellis. She just did.

There was some sense of satisfaction at that, though she wasn't entirely sure just why or what it meant. All the same, she smiled to herself in her own way, reaching up to touch her lips still slightly burning from where she'd kissed the wounded man as she looked down upon him. Even though he was still unconscious she could have sworn he kissed her back.

Maybe that was just wishful thinking.

Her hand found his, gently engulfing it as she sat with him throughout the remainder of the night.

His fingers curled around hers.


	5. Let's cut our losses at both ends

Southern Comfort.

**A/N: ** To be perfectly honest, I absolutely hated what I had for what initially the last chapter. To make up for that, I took it down and decided to replace it with this one in order to pretty much gloss over my complete failure there. Since I hated it. Please accept this an apology. And I'm also sorry for pretty much sending you a repeat e-mail because of that. Maybe it's just the fact that I wrote most of what was the original fifth chapter at the five in the morning, but I still don't like it any more.  
>I like this version of the chapter a lot more, mmhmm.<br>Ellis' moaning and groaning was getting on my nerves and I felt it was being drawn out for too long.  
>But yeah, I reused part of what I had before, naming the conversation between Nick and Zoey.<br>**-But!** is this version of the 5th chapter better?

At least now's he's finally awake and mostly coherent.  
>And yeah, he probably shouldn't be doing what he does in the beginning of this chapter, but c'mon, it's Ellis. Keith probably rubbed off on him.<br>That, and I wanted to make some real progress.  
>still failed somehow but ahhhhhh well.

* * *

><p><strong>5. <strong>Let's cut our losses at both ends.**  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>"Well, it can only get better, right?"<em>  
>—Louis<p>

* * *

><p>In all honesty, Ellis only woke up because he had to pee.<p>

He had to pee so bad it _hurt._ He went to yawn and it was replaced by a gasp as pain shot through his damaged chest, forcing his head and heart to pound all that much harder and the urge to pee was replaced by the realization that there was a strange sensation his ribs that he was fairly certain hadn't been then earlier. Frowning, he lifted a hand to his chest, fingering the blanket someone had draped across him, and as he began pulling it away from himself he was greeted with a sight he wasn't overly sure he wanted to see.

"...Where're my pants?"

It was a pretty good question, really, seeing as someone had apparently managed to worm him out of not only his beloved Bull Shifters shirt, but his coveralls as well, leaving him clad in little more than a pair of sleep pants that had clearly been forced on and what he could only hope were the pair of boxers he'd already been wearing. It was already bad enough that he'd been pretty much been stripped down, but even worse that it had been in his sleep. That was more than just a _little_ invasive.

Oh, and his entire torso was practically covered in bandages, the dull pain in his abdomen leaving little to the imagination. For the moment he couldn't remember how he'd ended up shirtless in a bed that wasn't his, but his mind was a bit too over-powered by the fact that he'd never had to pee so bad.

In retrospect it was an exceedingly bad idea, but Ellis started to get up anyway.

For his efforts, he was rewarded with a gasp, hand pressed firmly against the spot on his chest that hurt the most, trying to fathom a reason for it and drawing blanks. He grimaced, gritting his teeth and about to lay back down before he realized pissing himself wasn't something that he wanted to do and he was more likely to find answers (and his clothes) if he got out of the bed and started exploring. That didn't mean it was going to be easy, obviously. Besides, what would Keith have done in this situation?

Okay, Keith would have done a lot of things—not all of them too brilliant—but he probably wouldn't have simply lay back down in bed and waited for someone to come save him. Seeking out answers was more likely to get him somewhere.

It took much longer for him to sit up than he'd thought it would and the mechanic had to take in a few quick breaths before he somehow managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed. He was able to keep himself upright for the time being, clenching his jaw with a hand pressed firmly to his side, as if holding his hand there would lessen the pain in some way. His head still hurt enough to get his brow knitting itself together and nausea churned in his stomach as he forced his way through the haze, vision swimming for a brief moment.

"Mmmph," Ellis mumbled to himself, taking his sweet time in getting to his feet at his bladder's urging.

There were muffled voices coming from the other side of the door that was open ajar and he set them as his destination, reaching out with his right hand for the wall in order to use it as support and a guide, his left clamped over the bandages wrapped around his body.

_Oh-ho-ho-hell this was a bad idea._

He'd already made it more than half-way to the threshold, and there was no turning back now at the rate he was going.

_God_ damn_!_

Giving the door a good yank toward himself he swayed for a brief moment, having little leverage to keep his body upright and instead Ellis ended up stumbling forward before he caught the door jamb. With a heavy pant, the young man bent over slightly while he was slapped in the face by his stupidity. The voices had grown louder as he'd gotten closer, but had abruptly stopped at his sudden appearance. All the same, he paid them no mind. Of course, given the circumstances and the past few days he very well should have, but the pressure in his lower body had taken over most of his attention for the time being.

The Georgian leaned heavily against the door frame in search of his bearings and the bathroom. He was oblivious to Nick's presence at first, and it wasn't until he heard his voice that he realized both he and Louis were staring at him with expressions that seemed to war between shock and fear.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing, Overalls?" Ellis scowled not so much at the nickname as he did the volume at which the man was speaking. Jesus, couldn't he keep it down a bit?

"I have ta piss," He shot back, annoyed for a number of reasons he himself wasn't too sure about. "I need to ask? And do ya have ta yell?"

The IT Consultant leaned forward in his chair to practically stare down the hick as if studying him, but it was Nick that approached him, reaching out to grab his arm and lead him back to the bed. The wounded man pulled away the minute the conman's fingers grazed his skin, taking note of the bandage wrapped around his knuckles but not in the mood to question it. Instead he stood up as straight as could with his chest screaming at him and calling him a dumbass as he formed one of the questions he'd been wanting to ask since he'd awoken (aside from asking where his clothes were and what the hell had happened).

"Where's t'bathroom?" Words slurred as he spoke, he turned his throbbing head as he tried to locate the room he was in desperate need of, feeling a hand wrap around his bicep and another press against his back as the dark-haired man tried to take control of the situation.

"Over there," He said with the curt nod in the general direction he was leading Ellis, making it clear that he wasn't overly comfortable with the latter being up on his feet so soon after being shot, but he summed it up to it being a result from being friends with a moron like Keith and he wasn't overly fond of the idea of Ellis pissing himself. That didn't mean he was going to keep quiet about it, however. "You're being a dumbass, by the way."

They'd finally made it to the bathroom door after a few moments of struggling to keep the younger man's feet beneath him and he let his gaze rove toward the ceiling and then back to Nick.

"Yeah," From where he sat, Louis practically snorted at Ellis' response, a bit perturbed that he presumably wasn't being much help, but his leg didn't exactly feel like a bunch of rainbows and unicorns either. Nick sneered at the man Zoey had shot the night before and had to tell himself not to all but shove him into the bathroom.

"Don't fall in."

The Southerner made sure to make a snide comment at him before he closed the door behind him, not overly pleased with the way either of them were acting and the way Nick was suddenly being almost all buddy-buddy with him. Whatever, that could wait for a few minutes. Right now he just had to piss.

He found himself using the wall to support himself, somewhere in the back of his mind hoping that Rochelle wouldn't reprimand him too harshly for either missing or leaving the seat up. Finishing without much incident he was happy to learn that this place—wherever they were—had running water and smirked to himself, leaning his temple against the cool plaster beside him, raising his free hand that wasn't clutching his chest to rub at his other one and closed his eyes. Every part of his body just seemed to _hurt_ and it was too difficult to tuck his head downward in order to fully assess himself.

It took him a few minutes to work up both the strength and courage to turn to the bathroom mirror and the same amount of time for Nick to start knocking on the door, asking if everything was all right or if he was dead.

Dismissing the inquiries with a stern grunt, Ellis braced himself against the counter with his hands, glancing down at the wrappings on his arms speckled with road rash before he brought his gaze up to his reflection.

...It wasn't exactly the picture of health.

His clone mimicked the un-amused, troubled look on his face and there was some reluctance before he made eye contact with himself. His face was flushed and looked rather drawn, the white of one eye an unholy shade of red and hair plastered to his scalp and forehead by sweat, but what truly earned a grimace was what he found when his let his eyes travel downward to study his torso. Bandages wound their way across his skin, most likely holding wounds together and keeping his blood where it was supposed to be. The faintest traces of pink could be seen dotting his stomach and he ran a hand across it, fingers tracing the gauze that was practically mummifying his abdomen.

To put it bluntly...he looked like shit.

"Man, I look jus' about as bad as Keith," The joke fell flat and the grin he tried to produce was cracked—

—Whoa, when did the room start moving?

Ellis just about tripped over his own feet, seeking out the doorknob and ramming headfirst into the door. Cursing, he fumbled and tried to get it open, grip slipping as he slumped against it. He frowned at the ringing in his ears, assuming it was something he didn't really have to worry about seeing as he was more focused on the that that he was trapped in the bathroom. Hell, Nick was probably leaning against it and locking him in, wasn't he?

"C'mon man, this ain't funny...Sum'un answer th' damn phone already, I mean Jesus..."

He plowed into Nick's chest with a strangled cry when the door was suddenly wrenched open and he was all but sailing through it. The conman let out a wheezy grunt when the younger male slammed into him, reaching out at the last second to keep him from plummeting to the floor. His teeth gnashed together and he practically snarled at the kid who was more than just a _little_ dazed at the moment.

"Jesus Christ, Ellis, I _told_ you—"

"Immaror'up,"

The hick mumbled, the skin on his face creasing and Louis stood, using the back of his chair as a crutch and shooting a look at Nick that clearly told him to either back away or endure. Something flashed through the green eyes and he cursed, mentally demanding to know why Rochelle and Coach had thought it had been a good idea to go out and scout a bit, dragging Zoey along with them after they'd found her dozing in Ellis' room. Francis was too busy being passed out in the other bedroom to offer much assistance, let alone a bucket that they so desperately needed right then and there.

"Don't you _dare—_"

Louis knew it was probably a bad idea to laugh at the look on Nick's face when Ellis threw up on him, but he did anyway.

* * *

><p>Zoey sighed in exasperation for the third time in the past five minutes, tilting her head backwards and aiming her gaze at the sky in a <em>why me?<em> manner while Rochelle and Coach talked idly about something she had no interest in. The Midnight Riders were cool enough, sure, but she failed to agree with most of the points the large man was trying to make when it came to their merits. Yeah, she knew who they was, but having to listen to him try to coax a positive response from the producer was starting to get on her nerves. Greatest rock show, woo-hoo! Now what good was that going to do them in the abandoned town of Rayford?

Her baseball bat thumped against her thigh, her gun having been taken away (by Nick, of course) and replaced by a weapon they all hoped she wouldn't injure them with. She frowned as they rounded a corner, heading back to their temporary base as she contemplated the general lack of trust they seemed to have in her.

Yes, she'd shot Ellis. On accident. Okay, moving on.

One of the two walking in front of her addressed her, and she only nodded in reply, a bit more than just miffed now and deciding that a good talking to was in order when it came to the conman that had more or less told her off the night before.

Rochelle rewarded her with what looked like a small, sad smile and the college student inclined her head in acknowledgement. Walking around the block had proven rather futile, the only things they'd found during their brief search being a few small shops that were and currently overrun, the corpse of the Hunter she'd killed and the bodies of two behemoths (the sight of which still sent shivers down her spine, dead or not) by the puddle of blood that had once upon a time been inside of Ellis' body.

Speaking of which...

Well, she still needed to talk to him. First off, she needed to apologize and secondly, she needed to question him about the things Nick had told her. Above all of that, she still needed to figure out how she—

"Son of a _bitch!_"

The three paused mid-step, exchanging worried glances with one another before they were sprinting toward the front door of the home they'd holed up in for the night (and quite possibly for the next few days, as things were progressing), Zoey practically being shoved aside by Rochelle so that Coach could ram into the door and force it open.

Zoey let her bat clatter to the ground, the woman next to her pulling a rather disgusted look and their eldest comrade staring mutely before chuckling to himself.

Nick looked none too thrilled from where he stood, turning away from where he'd been scowling at Ellis—who'd been dumped onto the couch previously used by Coach and the biker—to greet their returning company. Louis bit his lip to keep down his chuckles, leaving Francis to come barreling around the corner in a rather disgruntled manner upon hearing shouts. He stopped short of the man in the suit, giving a snort and pulling a face.

"The hell happened to you?" The tattooed man snickered, elbowing the lanky man in the back and stepping aside before he could end up gifted with a nice right hook for his jest.

Lips pulled back in a sneer. "He threw up on me."

He let that statement linger in the air, the silence interrupted by the front door being closed by the former footballer and he squared his jaw at the range of reactions he was receiving.

"And no, it's not funny."

Apparently, it was.

Nick spent a good twenty minutes standing at the kitchen sink with very little to work with save for warm water and laughter from the living room.

* * *

><p>"I need to talk to you,"<p>

Zoey could only nod mutely when Nick had a sudden grip on her bicep later that day, fingernails digging into her sleeve as a frown spread across her face. Trailing behind him—more like being _dragged_, in her opinion—the college student struggled to keep her feet steady and beneath her, letting herself be led out of the room and into the next one. They stumbled past Ellis who was currently sprawled out on the couch, and she could feel his eyes watching her as they rounded the corner.

Whether or not she liked his concern, she didn't know. Rochelle was quick to try to divert his attention, however, letting Louis and Francis discuss something amongst themselves in the corner of the room while Coach prowled through the kitchen.

It wasn't until Nick closed the door that Zoey realized he'd brought her into the bedroom that Francis had been napping in earlier, and then it registered that she was alone in a bedroom with an older man (who she didn't know or like) and it brought things to a whole new level of awkward and uncomfortable.

He seemed to pick up on this, but made no move to make her feel any more at ease. She did have a pretty decent poker face, admittedly, but he noted that the only downside was not only the fact that he'd been able to see the discomfort in her eyes, but also that her currently impassive mask made her just about damn near impossible to read.

Nick was just not in the mood for this shit, so he cut straight to the quick.

"I'm not going to apologize, if that's what you're waiting for." He sneered, and the girl couldn't help but scoff at the remark. It wasn't as if she'd been expecting one, but perhaps it would have made things easier. "Now, I know I'm an ass and I haven't exactly been the best damn charmer, _but_—" He paused at the sound of voices in the next room, and they both found themselves waiting. "—I also know that you heard everything I said to Rochelle last night."

Zoey opened her mouth to argue, but was stopped by his next statement.

"No, don't even start. I said I'm an ass, not an idiot." His eyes narrowed.

She said nothing in response, and in some ways that just irritated him more. "And you know what? I'm actually sort of glad that you heard that, because it'll make this is a helluva lot easier. So to recap: I don't trust you, I don't like you, I don't plan on getting to know you. You stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours and we'll get along just fine."

They stared one another down, both trying to ignore the small mess on his shirt front that had partially been washed away, one folding their arms and the other clenching fists.

Zoey broke the silence first. And break it she did.

"Look, just because you think you're so god damn special doesn't mean that I'm going to treat you like some king or grovel at your feet—"

"Cupcake, please—" The conman cut in, hands moving to his pockets as he adopted a rather bored expression. Zoey went from being annoyed to all sorts of varying shades of furious.

"No. You shut up and you _listen_, alright?" Nick stopped talking and allowed one of his eyebrows to raise. She used the current lack of interruption to her advantage. "I _know_ I screwed up, okay? I really messed up. I get that. It wouldn't be the first time." Something flashed in both of their eyes, but neither elaborated. "Shooting Ellis was a mistake and a horrible, disturbing, _beyond_ freakin' stupid one at that. But do you honestly think I meant to? That I _wanted _to shoot him? That I wanted to try to kill him? He could _die_ and it would be _my fault_ but do you really believe that I don't know that? Like I'm not terrified that 'holy shit, I just _killed_ someone and he wasn't _Infected_?"

Pacing hadn't been one of her favorite past times, but it had become a habit of hers that she'd adopted from her mother after seeing it during so many fights, as was running a hand through her hand and grabbing snatches of it before releasing it and letting the snarls gather around her face. Nick remained impassive the whole time, save for that quirked 'brow, and for that she was almost grateful.

"I'm sorry, okay? I really am. But I don't think us getting pissed and butting heads is really going to help anything." Maybe it was just the fact that it this wasn't the way she'd wanted this conversation to go, but something in Zoey seemed to deflate as she exhaled. "I want to apologize to him, seriously, but right now doesn't seem like the best time to try and talk to him, especially when you're not letting me."

Nick let this digest, Zoey staring him down with her heart thundering in her ears for reasons even she didn't know.

And then she remembered that she'd kissed Ellis, if only because she could.

She thought she was about to lose her cool when he suddenly smirked. It was a bit cold and cynical, but his eyes betrayed him for a brief second.

"Fine." He tilted his head to the side to crack his neck, and the girl unwound her fists. "You get to chat with him, apologize, go boo-hoo-hoo all you want, sweetheart." The conman's tone was soft and gentle, and it was that that put her on edge more than his words, especially when he leaned forward until they were eye level, though her chin was still forced upward to maintain it. "But I just want you to know that the odds aren't exactly on his side at the moment, and there's still a pretty good chance that he might not make it, despite what you think."

(He was lying and they both knew it. At least, she hoped he was.)

Zoey quickly noted that his Adam's apple bobbed nervously as he spoke, but she made no comment about it, suddenly feeling a bit too nervous herself.

"And if he dies, his blood is on _your_ hands."

Not exactly the best note to end their conversation on, but at least they'd found some sort of middle ground, promising to stay out of one another's way and business.

Zoey swore at him as he left the room.

The empty room proved better company for the time being, and she buried her face in the pillow, trying so desperately hard to just _not_ think.

* * *

><p>Ellis simply looked at Nick and chuckled weakly as a means of apology.<p> 


	6. It's hard to never mind

Southern Comfort.

**A/N:** So. This story is gonna start going places. Forget dragging along. Let's do this.  
>[Finish ALL the chapters? YES.]<br>Also, in case I never made it clear—because I'm sure I failed there—, the past few chapters really only lasted the span of a few hours. We'll say that the first chapter started around 8 p.m. [8 p.m.-12/12:30 a.m between chapter 2 & 3, 12:30-1 a.m. in chapter 4] and it became about midday-early afternoon in the last chapter [5, and it's now dusk/night in this one. eurgh.]. So really they've only been in the house they're in now for one night. They'll be there for a little bit due to gunshot wounds and Witch injuries, and if all else fails I sort of want to get through that so I can really get this story up and running.

This chapter is long. Let that make up for all of that confusion that came with the last update.

* * *

><p><strong>6.<strong> It's hard to never mind.

* * *

><p><em>"Killin' vampires looked easier in the brochure, didn't it?"<em>  
>—Francis<p>

* * *

><p><em>Shhck shhck shhck<em>

(It was like that time he was belly-flopping in the creek with Keith back behind his uncle's house but he'd twisted and managed to crack his head on that rock—)

_Rhh rhh_

(—and his uncle had that huge dog and it had tackled him with those nails that were never cut just right—)

_Unh unhhhh_

(—Keith had been yelling and the dog's claws had hurt, yeah, but he'd just been pulled out of the water and his head hurt so bad he'd hardly noticed his sister running at them, her pink blouse ruffling in the summer breeze—)

_Mmmph mmph_

(—then the dog was rabid and all Keith could do was stare with his sister and there was that fearful look in her—)

_Ahh ahh_

(—wait those weren't her eyes—)

_Chck chck_

(—WHY DID SHE HAVE A GUN—)

Ellis dreamt of being shot by angels and eaten by dogs.

* * *

><p>To say that Zoey slept peacefully would have been sugar-coating something that wasn't happening. If anything, her 'sleep' was more of a self-induced attempt at unconsciousness that failed when every close of her eyelids produced image upon image of things she didn't want to see or even think about.<p>

In order to be perfectly honest, Zoey had never been one to deal too well with guilt, let alone welcome it with open arms. If anything, it had been something shoved down—deep, deep down. Far enough down that even years of excavation would never find it and she would trap herself in her happy little bubble of ignorance that had burst at the first scathing words shared between her parents.

Sleep was not something that was going to come easy, she knew that much. Rolling onto her back she stared at the dismal ceiling, tracing the cracks in the same manner she'd once tried to trace the constellations with her father though she would grow bored much too soon when the din of the city and its smog got to be too much.

She closed her eyes, willing away the memories and telling herself to focus on the present, anything to keep her mind off of what she had done and what she had become.

College—

—horror movies—

(_You and your dad here..._)

—zombies—

—blood—gore—death—Millhaven—Bill—

(_He...He's not my father..._)

—an endless loop of fear and failure that Zoey was sure by now that she'd never escape. The rush of adrenaline and spike of terror had always been so much more enjoyable holed up in a dorm room or the times she spent with the man she was lucky enough to call her father, images of science experiments gone wrong, terrible acting and mediocre effects that had always been the highlights of the weekends that seemed so few and far in between. And then came the zombie flicks, the slow, moaning shamble and over-used _braaaaaains_ that had always earned an eye roll.

The promise _You remember the part in all of 'em when they had to shoot the one guy before he turned?_

(She can see him, she can see him laughing. Oh god, she can see her father _laughing_ and things are almost all right.)

Ohgod, dad, ohgod ohgod dad, dad please.

Oh god no, oh god. Please I don't want to remember that.

(Dad coughs weakly at first and then it gets worse and worse and suddenly he's doubled over clutching at his chest and laughing through the hacks.)

Please no.

(Blood splatters around his feet and he continues to laugh but she doesn't remember that happening and he looks so much different, so much like—)

_We always made fun of that part._

No, no, no, no.

(Ellis looks up and grins through the blood trickling from his lips and chest.)

_I love you, Zoey._

* * *

><p>"Jesus, Ro," Ellis muttered as Rochelle prodded at him for the umpteenth time. "It's not like 'm dead er sumthin'. I jus' hurt."<p>

A few hours ago the poor guy had been transported back to the bed he'd spent the night in, and he'd assumed that they'd simply let him be and leave it at that. His fever had managed to break a short while after having vomited on Nick, and even though almost everything still hurt like hell and he knew he was going to get an earful for getting up on his feet too early just to take a piss, it sure beat sitting around being babied.

Rochelle didn't seem to mind, though.

She hummed, examining his bandages once more and blatantly ignored the way he rolled his eyes when she had him turn his head this way and that. Coach watched thoughtfully from the doorway, well aware that he was presumably the only one of them that knew how to deal with a concussion, and as such it would presumably be left to him to monitor and assess the boy's symptoms. Of course, he could let Rochelle play nurse for the time being if she really wanted to.

"That's exactly why I'm doing this, Ellis."

He pouted for a moment, but she assumed it was simply him being all bothered by the fact that Nick had dragged Zoey off to who-knew-where earlier that day only to come stalking back empty handed with that wet spot still on his shirt. Come to think of it, that bothered her too.

"Dun mean ya gotta act like my ma," The Southerner muttered, trying to pull away from the woman because what she was going was really just making everything worse. Sure, her heart was in the right place, but the constant pokes weren't helping matters any. "Ro, seriously, stop. Please."

The producer leveled him with a certain look, and a weight settled in his chest, feeling guilty and ashamed all at once. It only made his wound hurt more, to be honest.

"I didn' mean nuthin' bad, I'm jus'..." She shook her head and laughed, causing him to trail off and stare at her in confusion. The two men off in the next room paused in their conversation to glance over and peek through the space between the large man and the wall, but they said nothing. Coach chuckled from where he stood.

"Sweetie, calm down."

Ellis nodded, utterly confused but at the same time not exactly feeling up for anymore verbal exchanges. It was honestly easier just to nod and blink. He was still exceedingly troubled by the fact that no one had taken it upon themself to tell him just what had happened and why he was practically mummified and feeling like Keith on a good day. The woman looking him over made an uncomfortable noise in the back of her throat, Coach just about leaping out of the room and choosing to venture off to find Nick still in the kitchen trying to scrub stomach acid out of his shirt. It became clear to the mechanic that he wasn't about to get anywhere with these people, but it wouldn't hurt to—

—Hey, he wanted to talk to Zoey. Where was she?

His thoughts wandering down the path they had the previous night before whatever altercation they weren't telling him about (it gave him too much of a headache to really think about it, and the way the dark-skinned woman was twisting it about wasn't helping) he paid little heed to whatever comments and questions were being directed at him until one in particular caught his interest.

"Are you hungry, Ellis?"

In response his stomach growled, and for the first time since this whole thing had started Rochelle thought that maybe, just maybe, things could turn out all right.

Whatever 'all right' meant when the world had gone to Hell.

* * *

><p>"Now what?" Rochelle had just darted out of the bedroom with a look that was difficult for him to decipher, and it took a few seconds for Louis to realize that the biker was talking to him. His shoulders sagged, something Francis didn't take too kindly to as he continued speaking in a rather rough, hushed tone. "We're still finding ourselves a boat, aren't we? I mean, after what Bill did..."<p>

The two men let the unfinished sentence linger in the air between them, the silence broken only by the sounds of movement in the kitchen, the shuffling of feet and cupboards with a snide remark that neither caught in full. Nick muttered something that earned a throaty chuckle from Coach and a light frown from the man with the bandaged leg.

"I don't know." Louis' answer was slow but honest, gazing down at his lower body and somewhere in the back of his mind hoping that it would heal relatively soon, if only so that he wasn't a liability any longer. One injured man was bad enough, and in all honesty it would just be nice to have his calf not hurt anymore. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see...?"

Francis grunted, arms folding as his face formed a scowl.

"I hate guessing."

* * *

><p>Ellis glanced down at the bowl of lukewarm soup in his hands, offering Rochelle a smile and soft nod, giving her the indication that he was perfectly capable of feeding himself. She appeared hesitant at first before reluctantly conceding, reminding him that she was only a holler away and not to think twice about calling for one of the others if need be.<p>

Chicken noodle soup had never been his favorite, but all the same he sipped at it carefully, hands still shaking and somewhat perturbed by the fact that he knew that there was someone currently keeping watch just outside the door.

Turning the ceramic in his large hands he let himself study the faded design on the side and then its processed contents that had never before looked more appealing, despite their general lack of taste. He swallowed another mouthful, earning a dull throb in his side at the movement and chose to ignore it for the time being. If there was one thing he missed above all else (and it really was quite the list, though it was more the people he missed rather than material objects) it was Ma's home cooking.

He wanted meatloaf and he wanted it _bad._

With a grin he leaned his head back into his pillow, dwelling on the food he was currently being denied. Thoughts of meatloaf brought memories of the disgusted look on his sister's face as they watched their eldest brother douse his in ketchup, the other mashing his peas and potatoes into an unrecognizable mush. If he closed his eyes he could hear Ma telling him to knock it off, Pa chuckling as he tried to keep their youngest—lil' El, as he was so affectionately known—from feeding his own greens to the dog under the table.

Ellis smirked to himself. Canned meals weren't going to cut it for too much longer—if he got the chance he was going to make them all a friggin' _feast_. Sundays at Ma's (God rest her soul if need be) had taught him well.

When Nick walked in with a scowl the Southerner was still quietly nursing his soup bowl and contemplating how he was going to go about making this meal of his, realizing with some bitterness that finding fresh meat and produce was going to be asking for too much. A dresser drawer was yanked open and caught his attention, interrupting his planning as he watched the older man with mild interest. Shifting through the clothing he made a disgruntled comment under his breath about finding a lack of a taste and grabbed the first shirt he found that looked relatively clean before granting Ellis a look.

"How's the soup?" Nick snickered, elbowing the drawer closed at the roll of the kid's eyes.

"Cold, but better than nothing," He replied, shifting his legs to keep them from falling asleep when Nick began unbuttoning his dress shirt. He gave the man an embarrassed, apologetic smile when he noticed the wet spot on the front. "Sorry 'bout yer shirt, man."

The conman almost shrugged, tossing the blue cotton over the back of the chair he'd previously occupied before donning his newest find—a nice red T-shirt that just went _so_ well with his white dress pants. He frowned at Ellis' chuckle and then began his task of finding a pair of sweatpants he could wear in order to avoid looking like a walking Valentine.

"Yeah, well, at least your stomach was mostly empty." Nick replied, finding a rather gaudy pair of pants during his search, both men grimacing at the plaid pattern. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the smile on Ellis' face shrink and it was with some dread that he looked forward to the conversation he knew was bound to come.

"Nick—"

"How're your pills doing?" The conman cut in, avoiding eye contact for the time being as he sorted through the abandoned pajamas, much in the same manner Coach had in the early hours of the morning following the makeshift surgery that the mechanic presumably didn't remember. Nick didn't want to think about that; he could still feel the slick blood on his hands as he resuscitated Ellis.

(_"Nick help me please oh shit Nick help someone please shit shit shiiiit kill me please let me die I don't want to—shit this _hurts_..."_)

"Uh, okay I guess." The younger one said, breaking the reverie and clearly thrown off by Nick's attempt at a deterrent. His gaze shot to the nightstand beside his bed with the lamp that had a flickering light bulb, eying both his cap and the medicine bottle that was only about half-full. The Georgian politely turned his eyes away when Nick finally settled on a pair of grey sweats that looked two sizes too big, watching the chicken fat condense in what remained of his dinner before addressing his friend again. "Nick, what—"

"Still in a shitload of pain, I take it?" It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to the kid, but he was tired and not sure how to tell him the truth about what had happened to him without being too harsh or blunt. The thought surprised even him, knowing that telling Ellis that his angel had shot him would break his poor little heart. He still needed some time to figure out how to word everything.

A brow puckered. "Well yeah, but—"

"Any bleed—"

"Nick, shut _up._"

Adjusting the waistband of his newly acquired pants, Nick shot a look at the wounded man and cursed, a bit too startled by the sudden change in tone. Ellis took a breath, having bristled up and prepared to shout for attention. Both men squared their jaws, one scratching his nails against the faded paint job on ceramic. The elder let out a breath through his nose before turning to stare down his younger compatriot.

"Nick, what _happened?_"

He quirked an eyebrow in response, something Ellis took negatively. "What d'you mean?"

"You know damn well what I mean," the mechanic muttered and then shifted his bowl to one hand to gesture to his body with the other. "The hell happened here?"

Nick was taking a bit too long to supply an answer for his liking. He was about to open his mouth and make another inquiry when the other male suddenly shifted, about to put his hands into his pockets when he realized he didn't have any. Awkwardly shifting around for a moment without a place to put his hands, he instead chose to run one through his hair, his face slipping back into an indifferent mask.

"Zoey shot you,"

Silence reigned in the room for a tense moment, and Ellis was half-expecting Nick to burst into laughter, uttering something along the lines _Oh shit, you should've seen the look on your face!_ between chuckles and he was about to start snickering himself until he noticed the sincerity not only in the deeper voice, but in its owner's eyes as well. The wound in his side ached just a bit more as realization of its origins slowly crept up on him.

The look of incredulity on his face must have been more than obvious as he choked out a _what?_

"She shot you," Nick repeated, almost as if this was just some everyday conversation that he was used to having. Hell, they could be discussing the _weather_ for the amount of emotion he was putting into his words. All the same, he apparently felt the need to continue and make sure everything sunk in.

"The girl up on the bridge? The chick you called an angel? Yeah, she pulled the trigger and shot you. Shot the Hunter that was on you two, but the bullet went through and we spent almost an hour yanking out all of the pieces." He sniffed, feeling like an ass and knowing he should have loosened up a little but not exactly in the mood to care. "And that was _after_ you got the shit beat out of you by a Tank. You've got a pretty nice concussion and eye hemorrhage to go with it."

At least that explained all of the pain and bandages.

That didn't make Ellis feel any better.

Zoey had shot him? Zoey? The girl on the bridge that he was sure had been love at first sight? The girl he was going to marry, kill a Tank in her honor? _That_ Zoey? And for his efforts she'd shot him?

He clenched his jaw with a frown, not sure what he felt more—rage or something akin to...well, hurt. He _knew_ it had been a farfetched idea to take her off into the world and proclaim his love after knowing her for all of five minutes, but it was nice to think that she liked him enough not to shoot him.

Even if it had been an accident, but still.

Nick's brow pulled together not quite in guilt but not quite in a sneer either. He honestly did feel bad for the kid, knowing his hopes of being with this girl had probably just been dashed when he'd learned that she'd almost killed him. Varying emotions warred in Ellis' eyes, struggling to come to grips with that fact that he had pretty much _died_ that morning while the events of the night before finally caught up with him. They failed to make eye contact for a few minutes, leaving Nick to fold his pants for lack of anything better to do, setting them back down on the seat of the chair and pondering what else to do with the shirt that had a vomit stain on it.

It took a moment for Ellis to realize that there was a hand gripping his tattooed shoulder, and he let his gaze follow it up into the face of the man who kind of sort of didn't quite look like Nick without the white suit on.

"You okay, kid?"

The young man swallowed, unsure of how to respond right then, watching absently as the forgotten bowl was taken from his hands. To save face he chose to nod, giving a small smile—the only one he could muster at the moment.

"Yeah, I just...I need to think, I guess."

Nick regarded him carefully for a moment before give his chin a tight dip downward in his own nod.

Ellis watched him walk out of the room before he covered his face with his hands and didn't know what to think.

"Well ain't that a load of shit."

* * *

><p>Forcing himself up the stairs, the conman tromped through the door before dumping himself unceremoniously on the bed Rochelle had previously been napping in. To her credit, though, she failed to make any annoyed sound, too tired to articulate it and now a bit perturbed that her sleeping arrangements had suddenly been altered.<p>

Nick let out a grunt when she prodded him with her foot, forcing him to scoot over before she kicked him again, setting and shifting around.

To be honest, he was just a little bit miffed (although he didn't know why, nor did he wish to explore that thought process) when the producer stiffly laid herself down on the messy, unmade bed, clearly refusing to acknowledge his presence again. Perhaps it just the fact that he'd more or less invited himself into her bed that had her in a tizzy, but it was probably just as well the way he'd been acting all day.

"I told him what happened," he said, but she said nothing in reply other than a short breath that he wasn't sure how to interpret immediately.

He frowned into the blanket pressed against his cheek, laying on his rather empty stomach. Hell, he'd just been acting like himself. If the past few _hours_ were enough to get on her nerves, then just imagine _days _and _weeks_. Besides, he wasn't really all that bad a person (hardy har har) and he'd just been acting in a way that had Ellis' best interests in mind, so where was the harm in that? Rochelle liked Ellis, and Nick protecting Ellis was sure to put him into her good graces, wasn't it?

His grimace deepened. What the hell? Since when had he cared what Rochelle thought of him? Sure, he liked her and all and it'd be great if she didn't hate him, but there was nothing more he wanted out of this partnership save for someone to watch his back and maybe talk to at the end of the night to retain his sanity because being on his own would have sucked ass.

Stupid god damn grease ball bikers. All their fault.

Rochelle had her arms crossed over her chest and was frowning in her own right when she heard the man behind her mutter something along the lines of _Jesus Christ_ with an agitated groan, but she chose to ignore it as best she could, turning her face further into the pillow that wasn't hers. Ohhh she wanted to kick him. Punch him, slap him. Something, anything that would get his attention and break the act of machismo that was seriously grating on her nerves. It was one thing for him to be sarcastic and a jerk, but another for him to be—

"I'm sorry, Rochelle."

—what?

What did he just say?

Her back stiffened, and he could feel it against the sheets. She rolled over slowly in order to face him and was met with two eyes she could hardly see but could definitely feel. She swallowed, partly waiting for him to elaborate and partly because she had no idea how to respond. Once upon at time she'd been quick on her feet, always, _always_ the first to offer some snappy comeback or other reply, but right then her mind was too groggy and too shocked that this mean, cynical man that she hardly knew was apologizing to her.

It was clear that it wasn't something Nick did often, so Rochelle took it with a grain of salt and some skepticism.

Her skepticism just about died when she sighed, her entire body going slack against the mattress as exhaustion set in again, her power nap having proven rather useless, too full of fragments of tormented screams and pleas for death and help to really give her any comfort. Watching the others skirt around one another all day hadn't exactly put her in the best of moods, and even then she knew that they were all most likely off on their own, Coach passed out on the couch with Louis off to the side in the recliner that had practically been deemed his; Zoey was in that third bedroom and Francis was either there with her (how would they break that to Ellis, if he still cared) or unconscious on the floor.

Nick watched her silently, trying to accurately gauge her reaction. He could feel her eyes soft and he almost felt sympathy. Not pity, sympathy.

"I'm just..." The woman breathed into air between them, finding herself somehow closer to his lengthy form, her eyes damp and glistening. "I'm just so tired..."

And then he knew. Maybe he always knew.

The conman pulled the producer to his chest, wrapped the once forgotten blanket around her, and let her cry herself to sleep.

Nick never knew why he'd done it, but it was almost comforting to have Rochelle curled against his side.

* * *

><p>Zoey shoved the heels of her palms into her eyes, willing away images produced by exhaustion and fear.<p>

(She doesn't remember getting up and rushing into the next room; the silent scream that tears itself out of her throat and the sob that chokes her as she collapses, hands trembling and holding her face as fingers tear at her for attention with angry hisses and cries.)

Cursing, she rolled onto her side, squeezing her eyes shut and her head between her hands.

_Getaway ohgod getaway from me._

(But then suddenly someone is there with their arms wrapped around her shivering frame, shushing her and holding her against their chest.)

_Shit, damn, no, please._

(All she can think was that they smelt faintly of blood and motor oil—)

Rather than see them she could _hear_ and _feel_ them clawing at her, bruising her, drawing blood and fear as they attempted to massacre whatever shreds of sanity and humanity that she had left. She could hear them hiss and bite, trying to gnaw at her and she flinched, something akin to a whimper snaking its way through her teeth and in the back of her mind all the girl wanted was for someone to come charging through the door, if only to stay there with her, let alone comfort her.

(—and then she woke up.)

Zoey buried her face in her pillow to muffle her scream.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** This chapter was a bit out of sorts, but it was something that I needed to do. Certain aspects will be revisited. :|  
>The bit with Nick looking like a Valentine was actually unintentional, but given that today if February 14th, I guess that works.<br>I listened to Hugh Dillon's "Friends of Mine" while I wrote part of this.  
>And people wonder why I can't take things seriously.<p>

-Happy Forever Alone Day! :'D-


	7. I know you can't hold out forever

Southern Comfort.

**A/N: **Just a quick word on Zoey, because I've come to realize that she's been a bit off for the past few chapters:  
>While I understand that L4D1 Zoey is stubborn, willed, strong, and all around 'awesome,' I also want to point out the fact that her and Ellis are both young [and perhaps in that sense not as emotionally mature? Well, she might be a bit more than he is, but still.], and she's only somewhere in the age range of 18-22 or so. I know she might come across as weak in this story I need you to look at it this way: she has lost <em>everything<em>, her parents are dead—she shot her own _father—_, her only comrades are men she barely even knows, and to top it all of she recently lost a man she had something akin to a father/daughter bond with. [Oh, and in this story she shot someone, so add guilt onto that.] And this is all just now catching up with her. I suppose that's my explanation for her earlier antics.  
>I dunno, I think that was more an argument to convince myself more so than anything.<p>

_Fatty Waffey_ & _Gabe97_: Zoey + Ellis interaction? ...challenge accepted.  
>All right! <em>Now<em> we're getting somewhere!  
>Long chapter, <em>ho!<em>

* * *

><p><strong>7. <strong>I know you can't hold out forever.**  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>"...Guess that makes two of us..."<br>_—John Slater

* * *

><p>Ellis was, for lack of a better term, bored out of his mind. To be honest he wanted nothing more than to get up and walk around, but at the moment he was only able—more like <em>allowed<em>—to do so as long as he had Coach or Nick or on the rare occasion Francis to support him and even then it was only for a short lap around the bedroom before his exercise came to an abrupt end. He just assumed it was because Nick didn't want him throwing up on him again.

Cleaning his rifle had only occupied so much time until the older man had ceased his third round of double checking it, telling him to get some rest and stop getting on his nerves. Now confined to his bed and flipping the deck of cards he'd found while digging through the dresser with the biker earlier between his hands Ellis leaned his head back into the pillows with a heavy, exasperated sigh.

Francis had taken Louis out in order to stretch his legs with Coach agreeing to watch their backs as they hobbled about; Rochelle was knocking about in the kitchen and rifling through the pantry the former manager had helped her clear of trash in hopes of finding some edible.

Drumming his fingers on the worn cardboard cartridge, Ellis waited for Nick to get out of the shower so that he could be educated in the ways of poker. The absence of chips hadn't seemed to bother the gambler too much (verbally, at least), but the currently bedridden man had offered to use bullets in their place, for the most part still unaware of the full mechanics of the game. Previous summer nights with Keith and Dave had been too full of beer and story-telling to really get anywhere past their own made up rules, and Keith's girlfriend at the time had been rather successful in constantly distracting the man before she'd almost let him drown in the Tunnel of Love.

After a not so subtle innuendo by Nick aimed in her general direction Rochelle had banned the boys from even considering playing strip poker.

Ellis snickered to himself at the indignant look on the woman's face at the man's remark, but then thoughts of Ro led to thoughts of women and thoughts of women led to the one person he'd been telling himself not to think about for a reason even he was unsure of.

So apparently Zoey had shot him. He tried not to focus on that too much, believing that dwelling on it forever wouldn't get them anywhere and he still wasn't sure how to feel about it all. Moving past the gunshot wound, Ellis didn't know what to think about her. Despite everything he liked her enough, sure, but his so-called love-at-first-sight may have very well been a flight of fancy, what with everything going on and happening all at once and he'd just thought she'd been pretty damn amazing up there on the bridge. Well, she could definitely shoot a gun, he knew that much.

His laugh was dry and bitter and just not Ellis.

The mechanic decided right then that his former 'crush' had just occurred because he'd been so caught up in the heat of the moment and it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Ellis didn't love Zoey—he couldn't. Hell, he didn't even know what love _felt_ like. How in the zombie-ridden world could he love someone he hardly knew?

And so Ellis chose to renege his ill-planned and baseless crush and leave nothing between them, even animosity—it would just be easier to start from scratch.

Nick's shower cut off abruptly and whatever relief he'd been feeling ran down the drain with it. Groaning, Ellis clenched the deck of cards in one hand and dug the palm of the other into his forehead.

To be honest, he just…he didn't know. Part of him wasn't looking forward to finding out the answer.

* * *

><p>Zoey grunted, rolling onto her back in order to glower at the ceiling since she'd finally managed to snag a few hours of fitful, dreamless sleep that had left her just as uneasy and restless before. With a yawn she forced herself into an upright position and relinquished the bed she'd taken up residence in overnight to whoever wanted it. The college girl paused just as he fingers brushed the doorknob and frowned.<p>

No more of this weak, sissy sitting back and feeling sorry for herself. Raised as strong-willed and stubborn, she knew having a few rounds of self-pity wasn't going to get anything done. Seriously, _Bill_ would felt bad for a few minutes and then told whomever to suck it up and deal with it.

Zoey decided to suck it up and deal with it.

Besides, Nick's face was due for a meeting with her fist anyhow.

A varying amount of discomfort greeted her as she shut the door behind herself when she realized that Francis and Louis had just left her with people she hardly even knew—one of which had made his distrust obvious. Frowning, Zoey adjusted herself accordingly and set to following the muffled voices floating through the stained wallpaper and plaster around her. They picked up and became somewhat clearer as she stopped, eying the door to the room Ellis had spent the last few days of his life in before gently nudging it open.

"…any threes?" The Southerner was saying, cards fanned out in his hands and looking at Rochelle expectantly.

"Nope!" she responded jovially from where she sat on the bed, leaning against the wall and smiling at the roll of the young man's eyes while he reached toward the pile of cards set up between them and Nick. The elder man clearly didn't look to impressed with the situation, shuffling his own cards between his hands as he waited for his turn. "Got any sevens?"

"Damn," Ellis muttered, plucking two out of his collection before handing them over. It was almost amusing, really, how a game of poker had quickly devolved into a game of Go Fish when the gambler was given the impression that he was about to fry the other man's still weary brain if he had to explain the use of the aces for the fifth time. "Thought I was doing purdy good too."

Zoey went to no great lengths to make her presence known, instead standing by the door with her arms crossed as she watched the scene unfold along with a quick shrug of the producer's shoulders when Nick declined to give her any of the fours he didn't have.

"Hey _Ayluss,_ got any threes?" he mockingly drawled, if only to get a rise out of the man he was addressing.

Ellis' mouth flapped for a moment and the girl just wanted to laugh at his expression. Rochelle clearly had the same mindset, finally glancing up at their guest and giving a small nod in acknowledgement.

The mechanic narrowed his eyes at the man in borrowed sweats, a playful gleam in his eye as he forked over three of his cards. "How the hell do you keep _doin'_ that? Ya got some cards stuck up yer sleeve er sumthin'?"

Nick neglected to point out that hiding cards was too low for even him to stoop to and that it wouldn't have necessarily been an easy feat to accomplish with a T-shirt on, but whatever smart retort he'd been about to make was cut off by a quick jab to his ribcage, gaze shooting up to meet that of the dark-skinned woman before it trailed on over to Zoey. To his credit, he didn't scowl as much at her this time around, instead laying his cards down on the bed and unfolding his legs from beneath him.

They locked eyes for a moment, wordlessly exchanging thoughts as she told herself that it wasn't the time and place to punch him just then.

Ellis glanced up from re-arranging his cards again to ask where they were going—"Uh, guys, the game's not done yet..."—when he noticed Zoey, and it was with some small pang that she watched something in his eyes harden. The older man muttered something about going to find some hydrogen peroxide for his suit (don't ask him how he knew that) as he brushed passed her. Rochelle said nothing as she hopped off the bed, following Nick out of the room and shooting the other woman a tiny, reassuring smile to combat Nick's rather apathetic attitude and the confusion Ellis was trying to hide.

Here she'd come to apologize and talk to him to see if that couldn't help to sort some things out, and instead she was left alone with a man that would hardly look at her, but with good reason.

But now things just felt awkward.

"Hey," was the only thing she could think to say in order to break the silence that was currently trying to either suffocate her or force her out of the room.

"Hey,"

The young woman nodded as he replied in kind. All right, first hurdle was taken care of; there were just a couple dozen more to go.

He wasn't giving her anything to work with—no ticks, no subtle hints as to how to proceed: just the careful stacking of the playing cards left upon the mattress as he ordered them back into a deck. The animated man that she'd met that one night that seemed oh-so long ago appeared to have taken a temporary leave of absence, putting up this suddenly quiet one in its place. There were no whoops and hollers (she wouldn't put those passed him even during such a calm game of Go Fish), and Zoey swallowed and told herself to suck it up.

"Listen, I just wanted to say that I—" she began, having taken a breath and planned on getting it all out while she had the chance to.

"Did'ya do it on purpose?"

His voice wasn't blunt and forceful like Nick's had been, but rather it was softer. Curious. There was a pause that sent her backpedaling and she couldn't help but feel a _bit_ insulted.

"What?" The college student breathed. "No! Of course not! Why would I—"

"Well okay then." Ellis cut in on her again, shrugging as much as he could, swiping up the Ace of Hearts and sticking it on top of the stack he'd been constructing. He was being stared at (incredulously) and he knew it and he couldn't help but let his shoulders sag slightly. He said nothing more than that.

Reminding herself not to let her jaw hang open, Zoey could only regard the man on the bed with as much confusion as her gaze could carry. _What? _She'd shot him and was trying to apologize to him and in his mind so long as she hadn't done it on purpose it was okay? What the _hell_ kind of logic was that?

"What the _hell?_" She couldn't help but voice that thought, for the life of her looking like she was expecting him to turn around and smirk or start going _Oh ha-ha I gotcha, huh? I'm actually really pissed. _He did neither. "I'm trying to apologize for shooting you and as long as it was on accident it's okay?"

"I didn' say I accepted yer apology," Ellis muttered, earning a flustered look of indignation. He sighed, setting the completed deck to the side before turning his attention to the young woman still standing by the doorway. Flashing her what he hoped to an easy-going smile, his eyes softened. "I'm kiddin', calm down."

Her grimace increased and he quickly figured out that an explanation was in order.

"Okay, so ya shot me. Yeah I guess 'm bothered by that, but what's the use in gittin' mad 'bout it?" Her only response was to blink as every coherent train of thought rammed into one another. "Look, Zoey, now I know ya didn' mean it and ya killed the Hunter that jumped me, so what's me gittin' all bitchy 'bout it gonna do? I don' git pissy 'n I don' hold grudges. Actin' like Nick ain't gonna solve nuthin'. It happened. That's it. Gotta move on—got more important things ta worry 'bout now."

Zoey said nothing, watching as he draped an arm over one of his bent knees, plucking at the bed sheet beneath himself, seeing as the blanket that had been draped over him previously had been wadded up and tossed to the head of the bed for Rochelle to sit upon during their card game. He eyed the bowl of tasteless pretzels that the three had been munching on, giving the girl ample time to simply stare at him as she tried to figure him out. In lieu of his clearly prized T-shirt were newly changed bandages wrapped all around his torso, the main concentration of them being on his right side where a bullet had attempted to take up residence. A few other scrapes and bruises dotted the rest of his chest and arms, serving to highlight the tattoo she hadn't truly noticed in the dark earlier.

And then he picked his head up and they made eye contact.

To her own surprise she didn't flinch when she took in the bloody red hue of his left one, too focused on the way the skin around it wrinkled from his nervous expression.

"Zoey? Say sumthin'?"

His words snapped her back into reality and she still wasn't sure what to say.

"I don't get you," The girl said, her head tilting to the side just so as she studied him and the fairly strange way he looked without his hat securely on his head. He seemed to appreciate this response more than silence and inclined his head in a brief nod.

"Guess I kin understand that,"

Debating whether or not to try her hand at apologizing again, Zoey picked up her arms from where they'd fallen in something akin to shock to fold them again and simply observed. It was painfully clear that Ellis still had something else that he wanted to say from the way he'd dropped his gaze and how the muscles in his face would give a quick twitch, his brow in particular. Figuring she would save him the time and dignity, she beat him to it.

"Nick told me."

Something in him seemed to deflate from the way his back slumped as much as it could despite the pain in doing so. He hissed, musing the unruly, curly hair on his head.

"Shit."

Whatever compelled her to walk toward him also compelled her to sit at the foot of the bed in the same spot Nick had been seated during their card game. Ellis regarded her carefully to varying degrees, wary of what she was about to do and how she'd taken the news from the man she'd been near coming to blows with. He made a mental note to give him a swift punch himself for putting him in this whole new predicament. It was bad enough to have some half-assed crush on someone, but something else entirely for _someone else_ to serve as the informant.

He couldn't help the blush that spread across his face to match the shirt on the former-would-have-been walking valentine.

She definitely noticed _that_.

"Look, I, uh, don' know what he tol' ya exactly, but I, ah..." He took a breath and closed his eyes, hoping he could give his heart to stop pounding due to anxiety and who-knew-what. "I'm tryin' to...y'see I..."

"Ellis," Zoey interrupted his stuttering, feeling the traces of a smile spread across her own face at his flustered antics. Funny how they could go from practically glaring at one another one minute and almost acting like awkward teenagers the next. This zombie apocalypse was totally screwing with both of them.

At least he'd stopped stumbling over his words, instead flashing her a bashful look and inwardly reprimanding himself for more or less going against his initial plan of giving up on his crush—it would have been easier for it to simply _not_ exist.

That plan had sounded better when she wasn't sitting right next to him.

Ellis took a breath and then the plunge.

"Look, Zoey," He tried not to appear too shocked at how level his voice sounded. "The other night did you by any chance—"

"Lucy, I'm home! Ha ha ha."

Both flinched at the sudden exclamation, the elder letting out a grunt of pain when he ended up jabbing himself in the ribs with his elbow. Zoey shot him an apologetic look before getting up and aiming for the door and the sound of Francis' voice. She paused halfway to turn around and opened her mouth as if to say something, only for him to wave her on as if whatever he'd been meaning to say had little importance. Her eyebrows pulled downward for a moment, but she didn't push it.

Ellis waited until she'd crossed the threshold and was well into the next room to curse at himself.

As she left the bedroom trying to mask her inner conflict the horror movie fanatic was met by a backpack being flung at her face.

"Sorry, Zoey." Louis smirked, Francis too caught up in regaling some tale to a somewhat disinterested Rochelle to do little more than nod in her general direction as she caught the bag in her arms. All the same, she couldn't help but grin at the look on the woman's face as she stitched together the bullet hole in what looked to be a variation of Pac-Man on a worn T-shirt, trying to shove aside what worries she could for the time being.

"_Nice!_" She breathed as she worked the zipper, finding it full of what appeared to be bars of soap and junk food—anything particularly healthy had been met with a grisly death by mold and decay. "No peanut butter?"

She was still acting 'off,' but he said nothing about it and she appreciated that. The IT manager shrugged with a chuckle. "Sorry; I'll try harder next time."

Their brief exchange ended with a nod and their attention was turned to the other four people in the room at Coach's low rumbling and the roll of Nick's eyes.

"Area looks safe fer th' mos' part," He said. "But that's what's buggin' me. Think there'd be lot more'uh them."

The three from the North neglected to inform the others that the main reason the area was so lacking in Infected was because they'd already cleared out most of them before Bill—

"We only covered a block or two. Took out a couple of vampires hangin' out by the convenience store but we didn't get too close to that 'cause of Gimpy here." Francis muttered, nudging Louis with his arm while the latter leaned against the wall, still trying to keep most of his weight on his good leg. He scowled and Nick had to turn away to keep from snickering, choosing to keep his eyes focused on the knot Rochelle was tying into the string procured from that bathroom drawer that had saved Ellis' life the other night.

"Yeah? Well your whining didn't help anything," Louis grumbled, shooting a glance at the larger, chuckling man.

In all honesty, Zoey spoke before she thought it out but all the same considered it a means of trying to get back in everyone's good graces. It was a start.

"I'll go check it out."

She was met with a curious look from Coach and a rather indifferent one from Nick; Francis, Rochelle, and Louis offering a mixture of shock and slight confusion. She wasn't sure how to interpret that. The lot was further startled when a voice sounded behind her, and she would have jumped had she not grown so used to such 'surprises' over the past few weeks.

"I'll go with you,"

Ellis stood in the doorway, arms folded over his gauze-covered chest as he leaned against the frame. He'd managed to worm his way into a pair of jeans that weren't his and he looked no worse for wear than he had not even five minutes ago when Zoey's apology had pretty much fallen on its head. A flicker of pain flashed across his face as he tried to shift, suddenly realizing that he was more or less shirtless with six pairs of eyes staring at him.

He made sure to avoid making contact with any of them.

"Ellis, sweetie—" Rochelle began.

"Young'un—" Coach sighed, running a hand down his face.

Louis and Zoey each said nothing in tune with the disgruntled noise Francis made while Ellis' gaze roved over each of them before it settled on Nick. They made eye contact and something passed between them briefly, as if the younger was more or less asking for permission. Nick squared his jaw and left his face emotionless.

"You're a moron,"

Ellis said nothing and continued to stare at him. The conman quietly made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat before conceding.

"All right, fine. It's your funeral." He muttered as the three outsiders to their group exchanged a glance amongst themselves. "But you're _not_ allowed to come back to me whining or any other bullshit."

Neither of the other two in their initial group seemed too pleased with the thought of Ellis venturing out so soon after his injury; Rochelle's grip on the shirt she'd just patched up so tight her knuckles were starting to hurt.

Their patriarch narrowed his eyes as he regarded their youngest carefully. "Boy, y'all best be jokin' 'bout tryin' ta pull that shit—"

"I'm not," The mechanic stated firmly, standing to his full height—it wasn't overly impressive compared to the other men, really—and giving an affirmative nod as if doing so would further his argument as his stance shifted. "If I hafta sit here any longer I'm gonna so stir-crazy. It's only a block, right? Walking' 'round a store and back. In-'n-out."

"It's not that simple—"

"Aw, bullshit." Ellis retorted, unsure of who he was annoyed with more: the people telling him 'no' or himself. He made to say something else only for Nick to speak.

"Let him go, otherwise he's going to sit here and whine the entire time." The gambler muttered in an almost detached manner while Zoey's hand wound around the baseball bat she'd been given in lieu of the gun she apparently wasn't allowed. Ah well, bashing in some zombie brains was probably going to be more stress relieving this way.

The former footballer muttered something about 'crazy ass stupid shit' before deciding to take his leave and see if he couldn't find anything useful in the kitchen. Rochelle, clearly irritated, stood and all but shoved the repaired Bull Shifters shirt into his hands with a huff. She glanced up and warned him to be careful with her eyes as struggled to shrug his shirt back on.

"You two check out the shop down the street." She said after his head had popped through the collar. "Nick and I will go the next block over and see what we can find. Holler if you need us, okay?" Ellis rolled his eyes with a smirk, shying away from her touch in time with Nick's own exasperated look.

Francis muttered something to himself and then chuckled as he snatched up a wooden tool that had been leaning against the wall closest to the front door. He held out one of the crutches that Louis had politely declined to Ellis with a grin.

"Never offer a man sumthin' he kin beat ya with," The hick said in amusement, reluctantly reaching for the offering and holding it a good distance away from his person as if it were diseased. "Now kin I have a gun er am I gonna have ta go all Babe Ruth on sum zombies with a cane?"

Zoey stood by the door, twisting her own wooden object in her grip as she watched Ellis take a pistol proffered by Louis with some disdain, the latter having removed it from the holster still attached to his thigh. Clearly he'd been expecting to take his own gun (a fairly nice hunting rifle, to be quite honest) just as the girl was missing the familiar feel of her own rifle and twin pistols.

"Try not to shoot each, huh?" Nick muttered when they turned to leave, earning a rather rude hand gesture from the young man and grimace from the woman.

She didn't look at him as she left, setting her own pace and unsure of whether she was annoyed or touched by the fact that he was offering to watch her back. He was being a complete moron, didn't he see that? He was already messed up enough as it was, so why make it worse by wandering around when he should have been sitting back and resting up?

Yeah, it was nice thought and his heart was in the right place (still in his body and not torn out by a Hunter, at the moment) but _still!_

"I hate selfless people," Francis grumbled as soon as the door closed behind the two.

Ellis turned and chucked the crutch into the gutter, following the Zoey down the street and mentally kicking himself all the while.

Something just out of earshot sniffled before setting off after them.


	8. You've been forewarned of the shakedown

Southern Comfort.

**A/N: **Oh! And I never thought to mention this earlier, but you know how the summary says 'Rating may change?' Okay, how many of you were thinking that I'd up it because of sex or something? Nope. [I mean, it might be very clearly alluded to at certain points, but I'm never gonna go so far as to go into detail. I'll save your eyes and my sanity from that.] Of course, there will be innuendos here and there. I mean, look at the characters...and this chapter. lmao. But no, the rating may also change because of language and gore. So there you go. xD

And I didn't update last week? For shame. I just ruined my update-once-a-week plan. :c  
>AND NOW SOME ZOEY 'N AYLUSS INNER-ACTION. uh-huh. hopefully it's up to par with everyone.<br>The Nick and Rochelle bit initially wasn't in this chapter and it was meant to end right after "_Witch._" buuut this is belated by two weeks, so what the heck. Making progress anyways. And it's longer to make up for that.  
>Sorry for the delay in updating—hopefully the next chapter'll come soon-ish, 'ey?<p>

* * *

><p><strong>8.<strong> You've been forewarned of the shakedown.

* * *

><p>"<em>Stay close, we're a party of two."<br>_—Coach

* * *

><p>"You're being a moron," Zoey said after making decent headway down the block once Ellis had grunted, clearing his throat in an attempt to make up for their previous lack of conversation. The man hummed thoughtfully in response, alternating between slouching and keeping his back straight in order to figure out which stance was the most comfortable.<p>

He'd known he was being an idiot the minute he'd thought to get up and follow the young woman out of the door, but it gave him a chance to talk to her alone without interruptions and get up off his ass and avoid being further babied by Rochelle. She meant well and he knew that, but that didn't stop it from getting on his nerves.

"I have my moments," He commented, rolling his neck as he tried to come up with something else to say. The girl let out a breath.

"I mean, not that I really mind the company..." She said over her shoulder with slight amusement spreading across her features. Zoey cocked her head to the side just enough to stare at him curiously for a moment, regarding him carefully as her footfalls echoed in her own personal bubble. "You look weird without your hat."

In some ways it wasn't a bad weird—it was just different, like seeing Nick in anything but his white suit. Strangely, Ellis hadn't seemed to realize this fact until she'd said something, hand flying to his head (which still didn't feel so hot, but he kept telling himself that he'd had worse), stumbling a bit at the decline in the road they were tromping down.

"Aw man, now I feel naked."

It was her first real laugh in a while as Zoey snickered at the pout being given by the wounded man. Ellis returned her grin in kind, though it slid into a frown when she turned away, still chuckling. He still wasn't sure what to make of her, seeing as one minute she seemed damn near pissed with him and the next he was getting her to laugh. Gah, women.

He didn't mean for it to sound as harsh as it did, but in some ways he just couldn't help it.

"Are you bipolar, Zoey? Ya seem kinda...I dunno, off."

The incredulous look on her face had him flinching back a snort. He felt a brief flash of guilt at his words, but he made no initial move to apologize for them.

She didn't respond for a beat, continuing in her stride and unsure of whether she was more concerned than insulted. She'd been keeping her emotions in check for the most part over the past few weeks, having focused more on survival than anything and gotten by fairly well up until this point. Then Millhaven had happened and they'd made it down here to the port in Rayford and Bill…

"It's been a long couple of days." Zoey finally said after some moments of silence, twirling her bat mindlessly in her hands and hoping that Ellis would simply accept her answer and not press any further. The girl hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath until he spoke, though it was slow with a hint of weariness to his own voice.

"Can't argue with ya there,"

Zoey honestly wasn't sure if he meant since they'd met or since Hell had been unleashed on Earth.

She herself didn't even know.

Thankfully, the remainder of the trip down the block was fairly uneventful, what with its general lack of Infected aimlessly milling about and Ellis questioning Zoey's mental stability further.

Annoyed realization abruptly hit her across the face like a Smoker's wet tongue and she let out a low groan from the back of her throat as they came to a rest at the street corner. Ellis quirked a brow as he glanced around them quickly, checking his newly acquired pistol with a heavy breath to combat the dull ache in his side. His hand tightened around the familiar feel of metal, feeling uncomfortable out in the open with the gentle sniffling sound he could barely hear.

"You didn't happen to snag one of those backpacks, did you?"

"Ah…No." the mechanic replied, glancing over his shoulder for good measure. There was the roll of eyes and a huffed '_Figures'_ off to his side and he found himself shifting his weight to keep from keeling over. "I was kinda too busy pleadin' m' case 'n followin' ya out th' door ta really think 'bout it." An attempt to crack his neck granted the tired man with a head-on view of the beaten sign above their heads and he laughed in spite of himself. "This it?"

"You're kidding me, right?" Zoey dead-panned, taking in the enlarged letters of Minnie's Mart. She merely snorted by means of a laugh and then nearly choked on it when she saw Ellis practically barreling toward the entrance of the convenience store. "Don't just bust in, man! What if it's alarmed?"

He paused, turning his gaze away from the girl and back toward one of the double doors that was already cracked open before giving it a solid nudge. While the one remained jammed and immobile, the other swung open with a loud _bang_ when it slammed against the counter beyond it.

Ellis strode in like he owned the place, giving the open door a good jostle. "Imma hafta say we're good; this'un stuck fer now."

There was some gleam of humor in her eyes as Zoey shook her head and then followed the somewhat rambunctious male into the store, thankful that the sound hadn't alerted any nearby zombies, seeing as she wasn't quite in the mood for a fight. He flashed her a grin and gave a sweep of his arm as much as he could.

"After you, m'lady."

She chuckled. "All right, my good sir, let's make this quick—I think I heard a Witch back there."

Nodding in agreement the young Georgian dropped his arm back down to his side with a sigh, leaving the door propped open behind them and disregarding the nearby carts to snatch a shopping basket off of the rack by the door. He handed it to the college student before grabbing one for himself with a shrug. "Probably a couple uh bags in here sumwhere, but these oughta do fer now."

Shifting the blue plastic into the crook of her elbow, the woman's eyebrows inched their way to her hairline as she watched Ellis make a beeline toward the dimly lit health care products—or, more notably, the _feminine_ products.

"Uh, Ellis…" she questioned as she approached him shifting through the leftover boxes with a bit too much finesse. The blush creeping up his neck was all too obvious. "What're you doing?"

He just about gulped when his fingers brushed against a box of more intimate latex goods. "Was thinkin' 'bout grabbin' sum uh these jus' ta piss off Nick."

She sniggered and without a second thought (which, in hindsight, probably wasn't a good idea or giving the best impression) and reached up to toss them into his basket. "Please do." He was a nice pink now. "Y'know, for a guy you're doing remarkably well for standing next to shelves of tampons."

"I had…have a sister," he replied, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, seeing her give a slight incline of the head. "Besides, I figure with Rochelle 'n all…'n now you, I thought it couldn't hurt ta git sum. Unless you think tha's bein' too forward er sumthin'…?"

"Nah, I guess you're doing her—er, _us_—a favor. Good thinking." Zoey said, inwardly cringing at the memory of her first week dealing with the Infection. As if the zombies hadn't been had enough.

Her words seemed to calm Ellis somewhat, but she momentarily struggled with the stone that had taken up residence in her stomach because he sincerely thought they were all going to stick together after this. Over the past few days she hadn't thought much about it, too focused on not thinking about certain things and worrying about the man she'd shot. The colorful drawl beside her broke through the haze she was beginning to cast around herself, and she glanced up to find the young man holding up two different brands of tampons and looking for the life of him out of his element.

"Um, Zoey? What's th' difference?"

She simply stared at him, and it took a moment before he got the hint.

"Imma...Uh, go check out the back."

"Yeah…You do that."

Turning a fairly dark shade of red to match one of his own eyes, the southerner turned and hobbled away, leaving the northerner studying tampons in his wake. With a frown she reached up and snatched the nearest box, stalking off to the next aisle while keeping her ears trained on the faint tell-tale sign of the crying Infected but hearing no more than the box of condoms sliding around as Ellis hummed to himself.

Thus far their search of the store had been of little use besides brief entertainment for her, seeing as it had already been ransacked a number of times before they'd shown up. Nonetheless, she took the least mutilated roll of toilet paper and what toothbrushes were left.

She tucked her bat under her armpit and had half a mind to snag a few coloring books from the rack at the end of the aisle if only to have something to kill some time with in The Keys. Instead, Zoey rounded the corner and started fuming at the lack of offerings on the shelves' part.

The third empty toaster pastry box managed to procure a moth, but other than that there was very little to work with down the aisle, save for a small box of crackers and a bag of chips that she'd thought she'd never see again. Her basket remained empty for the most part, though she was able to find a beaten candy bar and a half full carton of said toaster pastries on the bottom shelf behind old wadded up newspaper clippings.

Stomach churning at the headlines Zoey forced herself back into a standing position, hands clenched firmly around the trembling paper and momentarily oblivious to the fact that she could no longer hear crying, nor Ellis' footsteps.

_Recent influenza cases believed to be strain of H1N1_

_Swine Flu panic spreads across northeast, public told to remain calm_

_First cases of new influenza documented in Philadelphia, Pa._

_New York hospital reports strange cases of rabies-like virus_

_'Green Flu' hysteria spreads south; C.E.D.A. urges reports of infected individuals_

_C.E.D.A. issues public service announcement as death toll rises_

"Hey, Zoey!"

She was halfway through reading one of the first stories she found when the hick called out to her, tearing her attention away from the wrinkled newsprint in time to see the boy come half-jogging, half-limping toward her, basket thumping against his hip as he grinned. Shoving the newspapers into her own Zoey returned his look, equal parts confused and amused. Miscellaneous findings had been shoved into the square of plastic during his search and she found herself absently peering into it.

"What'd you find?" she asked, making him pretty much beam.

"Check it out," he responded, reaching in and digging around, pulling out his hand to reveal another pistol and set of clips. The girl gave the Glock an approving glance, though it may have been aimed more so at the packet of beef jerky next to it. "Back office was empty 'n had its own stock uh stuff. Found some snacks and this gun back there," Ellis paused for effect, his shit-eating smirk giving it some emphasis and he reached to pull something else out of his basket of goodies. "Oh, 'n I found this too."

It was almost as the world had stopped turning to stare.

"...Holy shit." Zoey breathed. "_Holy shit._ You're kidding me."

"Nope," the man spoke through curled lips, tossing the small tub of plastic to his new comrade and she almost dropped her bat in the process. "Go for it."

For the life of her, Zoey could not remember being happier to see a jar of peanut butter.

Ellis gave her a throaty laugh, watching with a great deal of amusement as she tore at the lid, quickly unscrewing without a care. He almost thought to say something when she started tearing at the paper, jabbing at it with a jagged fingernail in order to get at the peanut butter that she'd so desperately wanted. Disregarding the fact that she had an audience and how unsanitary it was, the girl shoved her finger right on into it, scooping up a decent amount in tune to the chuckle from the man in front of her before sticking it in her mouth and closed her eyes with something akin to an appreciate moan.

Her companion coughed weakly, and it was in that instant that she finally realized how she sounded.

Zoey's eyes shot open and she very nearly dropped the plastic jar, turning about five shades of red within the next second at the flushed look on Ellis' face. Neither of them said anything to one another for a moment, leaving him to rub the back of his neck in embarrassment as he began stuttering something about going to check the next aisle, as if attempting to appear as if he had no clue what had gotten them both so worked up.

Back to square one, pretty much. Now they were going to start awkwardly skirting around each other all over again. Damn you, peanut butter.

"Aw, geez," she muttered, putting her hand to her face before quickly yanking it away when she realized it was the same offending hand in the first place. Hurriedly screwing the lid back onto the jar the girl worked to steel her nerve and plopped it right on top of the toaster pastries and newspapers, hoping to find Ellis and try to smooth over whatever the hell had just happened.

She rounded the corner just to ram face-first into Ellis' chest.

"Ellis, I just—" Zoey began, about to pull back until his arm wound around her waist and held her flush against him. She was about to retort and shove him away before she noticed the way his eyes were widened (it was still hard to look away from how red the whites of that one was) and the small traces of fear within them. About to question him, she found her cheek pressed against the worn fabric just above his heart as the mechanic started backpedaling, practically dragging the young woman with him as he took them to the next aisle. While she wasn't overly comfortable with the situation, Zoey did have to note that Ellis was rather...warm.

And then came the sobs as a wiry figure crumpled in the doorway and blocked their only exit.

"_Witch._"

* * *

><p>"No, a royal flush and a full house aren't the same thing." Nick muttered, shaking the doorknob before him only to find it locked.<p>

To be honest, he was surprised that Rochelle hadn't bitten his head off for letting Ellis wander off so soon after his injury, but he wasn't complaining. They'd spent the last ten minutes wandering around back-alleys with more blood and urine stains than either of them cared for and most doors that they'd found were either jammed or led to pointless backrooms full of trash.

Nick was just thankful that there wasn't a need to go through another sewer.

"Ah. And aces count as ones?" the woman asked quizzically, Ellis' rifle held tightly in her hands as the conman's stance stiffened and he shifted his hold on the shotgun said mechanic had cr0wn'd the sobbing bride with oh so long ago. She shifted the backpack strapped to her shoulders and watched him prepare to plant his foot against the closed opening.

"That," he grunted and gave the door a firm kick right below the knob, causing it to sail open. "Would be Blackjack. Your goal is to have the cards in your hands add up to twenty-one, and aces count as ones or elevens depending on what you need to get there. Face cards are ten and if you go over twenty-one then you're done and you lose whatever you bet."

Rochelle nodded, following the man over the threshold and flicked on the flashlight strapped to her borrowed gun, letting it slowly sweep over their newest surroundings as she gave them a quick study.

"Hah, the only card games I ever played as a kid were Go Fish and War. Guess I need to get out more." she muttered, and he snickered in response.

"I'll make Ellis play fifty-two pick up. I'm sure he'd love that."

Nick began sorting through miscellaneous objects strewn about in a careful manner and with a disgruntled sound he failed to hide. She rolled her eyes and continued moving, quickly deducing they were in the rear of some former eating establishment of sorts, if the array of cooking utensils and diner bill and menus was any indication. That or someone just really liked collecting pots and pans.

Side-stepping an over-turned box of napkins and shattered plates the producer headed toward what she assumed to be something similar to a pantry, figuring that finding them some sort of food to hold onto honestly couldn't hurt anything. It was the freezer that she came across first, however, and with something akin to a shrug she tucked her arm against her side to hold her rifle in place and wrapped her hand around the handle to gave it a good tug.

She was rewarded for her efforts with a body tumbling down in front of her.

Her sudden, audible gasp was muted and cut off by the hand planted against her mouth, rifle clattering to the floor in her shock. Air exited her nostrils in a panicked rush and on instinct Rochelle started struggling and fighting back, clawing at the fingers on her lower face until her nails hit two gold bands of metal.

"Rochelle, shh it's dead." Nick said, her heart pounding erratically as a result of narrowly missing the dead figure that had almost landed on her with a silenced scream of its own. "Rochelle, breathe. Calm down."

The woman nodded into his palm, back and book bag pressed against his chest before she practically shoved away from him, annoyed with herself for being so skittish. All the same, she didn't miss the quirk of his brow when she turned to face him.

"Ah, thanks." she took a breath, bending to pick up her weapon from where she'd dropped it. "Sorry, guess I'm just...I don't know..."

Rochelle glanced up in time to watch Nick shove something into his back pocket and she couldn't help but frown.

"What've you got there?"

He gave her a look of mild interest but failed her when it came to an explanation. "What?"

"In your pocket," the petite woman gestured toward his back-end with the muzzle of her gun and something flickered across his features when she momentarily aimed it at him. "What's that?"

"Nothing," he said, reaching out to smack the rifle's mouth away from his ass. "Sweetheart, don't shoot me."

With a huff she slung the rifle over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes, giving the man a pointed look that brooked no argument and he responded with a nice glare of his own. The hand extended toward him palm-up was bluntly ignored and he failed to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Nick was about to ask her what she was on about and why it all mattered so much when he felt a sudden tug on his back pocket and he tore his eyes away from the ceiling to find her reaching around him to more or less stick her hand down his pants.

"Jesus Christ, Rochelle! What the hell—?" he hissed, though he didn't exactly pull away. "Would you stop groping my ass?"

The producer frowned, hand pretty much cupping his rump before she yanked it back, bringing a folded up orange piece of paper with it.

"Well then don't put your ass where my hand is groping." she muttered, smoothing out the creases and unfolding Nick's former secret only to find a series of town names that had been written and then scratched out on the back of a C.E.D.A. poster, the latest being _Rayford_, just after the roughly scratched out _Savannah_. Rochelle's brow knit and her expression morphed into one of confusion. "What's this?" He didn't respond immediately and her jaw clenched momentarily.

"Is there a reason you weren't planning on sharing this?" Nick didn't answer her question, leveling her with a certain look she couldn't decipher and then she understood. "Are you still planning on leaving us...?"

By means of an answer the older man turned and made his way toward the doorway that would take them out of the kitchen and into the main part of the dilapidated diner. Rochelle wasn't sure whether she wanted to be angry or confused, but she took off after him nonetheless. She also wasn't sure why it bothered her so much—she'd known this man for not even a week, and even then she knew almost nothing about him. Lingering in the threshold between kitchen and main room, the woman had half a mind to smack Nick upside the head and put him in his place, telling him that like it or not he was stuck with them, damn it.

"What if I told you that I don't know?"

He finally spoke after a few moments, having wadded through overturned chairs and tables to make it to the front of the room and her shoulders sagged.

"I guess that makes two of us."

The two opened the front door just in time to see Ellis and Zoey fly by on a shopping cart.

* * *

><p>Upon their return, Zoey had been granted sole custody of the peanut butter jar, the others either content with the toaster pastries or bags of beef jerky that Ellis had found and she wasn't about to complain.<p>

Digging her spoon (one of the few clean ones left in the kitchen drawers) into the mass she'd been craving for weeks on end for the umpteenth time, the girl had to remind herself to slow down unless she wanted to throw it all back up again.

Freshly showered and finally feeling clean for the first time in awhile, Zoey sat contently on the bed the others seemed to have forgotten about with the newspapers she'd snagged splayed before her while she happily munched on the find she was all too thankful to Ellis for. Attempting to blow still damp hair out of her eyes she let out a huff, shoving aside the nearest clipping in annoyance and couldn't help but snicker a bit at their memory of how they'd gone about combating with the Witch earlier that day.

Ellis hadn't been in the best condition and a baseball bat and a handgun wouldn't have dealt with her all that well, and as a result the duo had had to make do with what they had. Tossing lit up and noisy children's toys found in the next aisle had proven rather useful, the boy having chucked a few of the more obnoxious ones as far as he could to the other side of the shop; a bouncy ball lighting up as it sailed past the Witch on the floor and earning a growled as it bounced off of the opposite wall. Zoey had tossed a series toys as well, including a doll that wouldn't shut up and some sort of stuffed animal that made noise when its paw was pressed. A teddy bear had nailed the crying heap in the forehead, but it had been the lit-up contraption shouting '_Smack it!_' that had really gotten her attention, sending her snarling to the other side of the counter.

The two had practically raced to the door with their treasures banging against their hips, the mechanic snagging a shopping cart for them to make their getaway on least the Witch whirl around and take off after them.

Zoey was still giggling to herself when there came a light tapping on the half-open door, diverting her attention from the jar in her hands.

"Knock, knock," Ellis chimed from the threshold with a grin, hat placed securely on his head. Almost as soon as they'd gotten back he'd made sure to snatch it back from the nightstand it had been resting on, though he had been laughing a bit too hard to explain himself when Rochelle and Nick came bursting through the door right behind them in time to take in the boy and girl with their hands on their knees, doubled over in laughter and an overturned cart dumped out on the street.

Zoey returned the smile with a nod.

"Howdy, par'ner," she replied, gesturing for him to come on in. He was left to hobble toward the bed after she patted a spot beside herself and scooted to the side. The mattress sagged beneath his weight when he sat down and she was suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that her jacket was currently hanging off of the back of a chair in the kitchen to air dry. At least the bedside lamp wasn't enough to highlight the scars on her back that was self-conscious about or the slightly uncomfortable flush of her face.

"Whatcha got?" he quipped, head bent toward the papers spread across the comforter, giving each one a quick glance while the bill of his cap successfully hid just how red his own face was.

"Just some newspapers I grabbed earlier." the college student said, drumming her spoon against the lip of the jar and ignoring the fact that she could feel his breath against her bare shoulder when he leaned forward in order to get a closer look.

"What ya really need is Nutella," Ellis stated after a beat, having scanned the array of headlines and eying the peanut butter held firmly in her hands. She snickered and brought it just a bit closer to her chest with a smirk as he hummed, seemingly lost in thought.. "Mmm, Nutella."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah," He nodded, a smile pulling at his lips again. There was a short pause before he inclined his head toward her hands; he appeared only mildly uncertain and she almost wanted to laugh at him. "Do you mind...?"

"Huh?" An eyebrow rose before she realized what he meant and she conceded, holding out the spoon and peanut butter to him. "Oh, yeah, sure—"

Zoey dropped the jar when Ellis timidly pressed his lips against hers.


	9. All the slander and doublespeak

Southern Comfort.

**A/N:** hnnf. You guys. You honestly have no idea. I really don't think you do.  
>c':<br>Also, I've been thinking of downloading one of the DLCs for L4D on the Xbox, though I'm curious to see which one you guys recommend: The Passing, The Sacrifice, or Crash Course? As it stands now I have just barely enough points to afford two of the three for the time being. Eventually I would like to play these things. I should get more games, lmao. xD  
>I was actually thinking of re-titling this 'Pretty Much Dead Already,' but I suppose 'Southern Comfort' works for the time being. Just so you're all aware that it'll be changed soon. hmm. ._.<br>Okay, onward.  
>Thanks guys. :D<br>The end's a bit rushed, sorry.

* * *

><p><strong>9.<strong> All the slander and double-speak.

* * *

><p><em>"We look after our own."<em>  
>—Bill<p>

* * *

><p>Francis stood in the kitchen, glowering out of the window above the kitchen sink. Tattooed arms stretched and folded, distorted as the muscles in his arms flexed, crossed over his chest while he deliberated their current situation. It had been all of three days since the <em>incident<em> and four since the _sacrifice_ before that, and truth be told, he wasn't overly fond of dwelling on either. As much as he would have liked to simply get up and move on, however, he was finding it increasingly difficult to do so when they were down one man and threatening to pick up a few stragglers.

It wasn't that he truly disliked these people—well, that big Coach man was all right and pretty decent, Ro he kind of liked, Ellis he found himself tolerating enough given his circumstances, but Nick...well, Colonel Sanders was an ass. An ass that needed to be put in his place. Granted, Coach could be stubborn in his own right from what the biker had seen, but it had been in everyone's best interest. The kid was simply thick and he figured he need a good smack upside the head in order to get a few of its loose gears working right.

He sniggered, reaching up a hand to scratch at his stubble and devising a plan that could in some ways win over the woman that liked De-peak Mode. Maybe he wouldn't win her heart exactly (not that he necessarily wanted or needed it, but what could it hurt?), but it sure as hell would be amusing to piss off Nick as much as he could before they split.

After all, hadn't Bill told him that they were to look after each other? Where did the others fit into the equation?

He scowled. Maybe they didn't. He could live with that.

He just didn't like the way Zoey was growing attached to their youngest. Maybe it was guilt over what she'd done, but Francis didn't like the way he at times could catch her out of the corner of his eye giving him a certain look when she was sure no one was looking, let alone the fact that they'd been laughing like a couple of lunatics at dinner—if beef jerky and granola bars counted as dinner—as they regaled the other five with their adventures at the convenience store ("It was like Jackass! But better!").

Truth be told, Francis was just worried about Zoey and he didn't want to admit it.

He'd seen the way she'd grown close to Bill, but he'd also seen how it had torn her apart watching him die, screaming out for the veteran and clawing at the biker's arms when he grabbed her, pulling her back onto the bridge as she sobbed, cursing and damning both him and the man sacrificing himself as the final generator roared back to life.

Zoey had refused to talk to him for the following few days, and on each of his hourly rounds he'd found her seated at the ledge with her arms folded over the railing, staring numbly out into the water as if wistfully expecting a sailboat to come sliding over the soft waves, carrying with it a gruff old man telling them to get their asses into gear.

Asking Louis how his leg was feeling had been the most she'd said in three days.

And then the stock car had shown up.

In some ways, Zoey was broken and irreparable just like they all were, and damn if Francis didn't know it. Damn if he hadn't tried to get her to just look at him with something more than just exhaustion or even a small smirk just to show that the girl he'd plowed through armies of the undead cracking jokes and heads with still existed. Zoey was broken and she was just too stubborn to admit it.

These newcomers had fixed something in her, if only marginally, and for that Francis was thankful.

But that didn't mean he had to like it.

Louis really didn't like the look Francis was giving him. It was bad enough that they still weren't exactly on fantastic terms with one another and never really had been, though he supposed in some sense Bill's passing brought them a little bit closer and more or less appointed the latter as their leader, but he still didn't like the way he was looking at him.

Francis, as per usual, was frowning up a storm in his own little corner of the room, Coach having taken the opportunity to snag a quick shower and leaving the two alone. Rochelle and Nick were off upstairs playing poker or something or other, and as far as he knew Zoey and Ellis were both asleep in their own rooms. At least, he hoped so. He didn't think his comrade's current state of mind could handle the knowledge of what _else_ they could have been doing. He wasn't so sure he could either.

From where he leaned against the counter the IT technician sighed, chin ducking down into his chest with his crossed arms twitching into a tighter grip as he quietly eyed the healing gashes on his leg. Sure it still hurt like hell from time to time, but he could walk on his own again for the most part and they were scabbing over nicely. Not that he'd been paying them much mind as soon as Francis turned toward him.

Their exchange the previous afternoon had been rather short and sorely lacking, seeing as they couldn't properly discuss the other group with one of their leading men trudging after them, but there had still been something there. The biker's persistence that they split up was probably for the best, but it had severely gotten on his nerves. Yes, Louis knew that they were probably better off sticking to their original plan and it in sense it would be their way of carrying out Bill's dying wish, but all the same he did want some sort of group discussion about this, whether it be between the trio or all seven of them.

They made eye contact with one another and he pushed away from the cabinet with something akin to a curt nod.

"You want me to tell her, or should I?"

* * *

><p>"You gotta be shittin' me."<p>

Rochelle sighed, running a hand down her face and Nick didn't even both to look even slightly ashamed. Rather, he leveled a certain, inquisitive look with the young man standing closest to the doorway looking all the world like he wasn't sure if he wanted to be annoyed or hurt, let alone pissed. The stairway creaked and groaned behind him as he glowered, causing them all to clam up before Coach popped in through the door before entering with a firm shake of his head. Once it had been closed Ellis took it as the all clear to keep on talking.

"So that's it? We just pack up and move on like nuthin'?"

"Ellis," the lone woman began, a frown marring her features at the look on the boy's face. "You knew this was coming. Splitting up and going on our own way was always the plan, you _knew_ that. We were always going to split up, even back at the bridge before you were...injured. Spending three days with these people can't change that! We need to focus on getting to New Orleans."

The two older men exchanged a brief glance while the youngest reminded himself that it wasn't overly polite to glare at a lady.

"So ya honestly think that goin' off on our own is really the best option we have?" he said. He wasn't narrowing his eyes necessarily, but he looked none too pleased with the situation. In some ways he wasn't even sure why he was so adamant that they all stick together.

Zoey was _not_ the reason. He refused to let her be.

"Boy," Coach cut in, hands placed at his hips. "We need ta think 'bout what's best fer the four uh us. Stickin' tuhgether was our initial plan, and damn if we're gonna mess that up."

The mechanic whirled on him. "So ditch 'em and git ta N'Orleans like it's no big deal?"

"Ellis." Rochelle practically chided, not overly liking how Coach looked just about ready to put the youngster in his place. "We don't know these people. What's to say we can trust them? Sure, we spent the past few days with them, but Zoey also shot you—"

"Don't," he interrupted, suddenly jabbing at finger in her direction and making her recoil. He only partly regretted the action.

"So whaddya wanna do then, boy? Have a powwow and convince 'em ta come with us? Leave th' Jimmy Gibbs behind and make alla that work we did pointless? There ain't enough room in that car fer ourselves, so how do you expect all of us ta fit innit? Ever'thin' we did woulda been all fer nuthin'. Runnin' through the sewers, gittin' all that gas, those two Tanks, you gittin' shot—that'll all mean nuthin' if we keep stickin' 'round here." The paternal side of the elder Savannahite was kicking in along with annoyance at how stubborn the boy was being. There were times determination was a good thing, but right now wasn't one of them. They needed the boy to see both sides, not just the fact he was too busy developing relationships with the other three to really see the bigger picture.

Clearly this had struck a nerve with the young man, as something akin to guilt passed across his face and he flinched just slightly.

These three had sacrificed precious time just to recuperate for the past few days, giving him time to rest and heal as much as he could before they set off into the unknown in search of salvation, and here he was trying to throw it all away.

Maybe it was for the better that they go their separate ways, but he still couldn't help the slight inkling that told him there was strength in numbers.

But the others would not be swayed, he knew that much.

Nick had kept his hands in his pockets and his mouth shut the entire time before something suddenly dawned on him and his laugh was a sharp bark.

"You little shit," he said, the finer traces of a smug grin tugging at his lips.

Rochelle turned and stared at him, Coach holding back any further speech to gauge the reactions between the two men that had been starting to butt heads again since earlier that morning.

"You didn't," the conman sniggered, watching as Ellis' expression flickered. "Oh ho ho, you did."

The Georgian shifted uncomfortably for a moment under the confused gazes of the other two people watching their exchange. It finally clicked and Coach heaved a sigh, Rochelle tilting her head back with a low groan.

"Yeah, I kissed her, but that don't change anythin'." he started just as the girl muttered something along the lines of '_Aw, Ellis..._' Nick mused his hair while the boy struggled with the threat of stammering in an effort to defend himself.

"That changes a lot of things, Ellis!" Rochelle hissed, wanting to scream but even more so simply wanting to be done with everything and anything to do with this damn zombie apocalypse. It was bad enough that as it stood now they were pretty much stranded in the middle of nowhere, but even more so that there was already enough tension between the four of them. Adding others into the mix would presumably make things worse. Damn Ellis and his ability to care too much, and damn her for not caring enough.

Admittedly it would have been nice to not be the only woman left in the world and have a few more people to watch their backs, but having more people meant more mouths to feed and more lives to worry about. Company was a luxury they couldn't afford.

"How so?" the hick asked. "I'm sure Nick's kissed a whole lotta women 'n that ain't changed nuthin'. What use is goin' on 'bout me kissin' Zoey gonna do?" Coach had half a mind to give him a good slap upside the head if only to knock some sense back into him and Nick himself looked none-too pleased. "Look, 'm not sayin' we stick tuhgether because I like Zoey. 'M sayin' we stick tuhgether because it'll keep us _alive_. Strength in numbers is what 'm sayin', and who knows what kinda shape these guys'll be in when we leave? Y'heard how they said they lost a man 'n Louis' leg was torn ta shit, 'n they let us stick with them fer th' past couple'uh days! They helped us! They looked after us! What kinda thanks is us ditchin' 'em?"

The other three were silent, seeing as no one really wanted to point out the fact that Francis, Louis, and Zoey had only helped them out because it was their fault Ellis was injured in the first place.

As much as it pained Rochelle to admit it, Ellis did have a point. Coach would have said the same thing had he not felt like they were driving themselves in circles. Nick would have lied and said he didn't care either way, but he still didn't trust the other three and still unsure of the ones he was with. It was only fair that he get the chance to voice his opinion on the matter, seeing as the other three already clearly had and it was his vote that would either solidify the decision or bring them to a dreaded tie.

He was bound to piss someone off either way, and he was almost okay with that.

"No."

Ellis wasn't sure whether to smile or frown at the single syllable. What did it mean? Was he siding with the hick for once, or was he giving them something else to threaten to come to blows over?

"I don't know these people, I don't trust these people, and I don't want to spend a minute longer with these people than I have to."

Something hardened in Ellis' eyes.

"Ya hardly know us, and I doubt ya trust us either." He'd taken a few steps forward and Coach was ready to reach out to hold him back. "What makes this any different?"

"For one thing, Rochelle didn't shoot you," Nick shot back, arms crossed and eyebrow risen as he straightened his stance, ready to physically defend himself if it came to it. Said woman reached out to place her palms against both of their chests, as if that would have done anything when it came to punches flying. The kid hissed only slightly when she dug her fingers into the pad of gauze she'd insisted upon.

Without truly thinking about, Ellis batted her hand away and set to work on closing the distance between him and the older man. Their height difference hardly seemed to faze him at just that moment.

"Do y'know what happens when people split up, Nick?" he'd dropped his voice into a low, cool tone. "Do ya? People lie and make promises they can't keep. We tell sumone that we'll be righ' back but we never show up." As if just now realizing what he was doing and how he sounded, Ellis pulled back, stepping away as Nick registered the guilt and fear in his pale blue eyes. "So go ahead, tell Keith—tell my mother that I'll be righ' back and that I'll see them at the evac. but never show up."

Ellis mumbled an apology to Rochelle and all but threw himself down the stairs.

* * *

><p>"So that's it, huh?"<p>

Zoey wasn't much one to second guess certain decisions, but this seemed like one of those times where questioning everything seemed to be one of the more promising options. Besides, the group decision had only barely been unanimous, and that had only been because she'd changed her vote at the last moment. She was still having second thoughts about it.

_Maybe he should have come with us...? Maybe we should have gone with him...?_

"Are you sure about this?"

Louis was busy still deliberating with Francis, leaving her silent and observing as they trekked back to the bridge that had started this all, the others gathering their supplies and regrouping at the Jimmy Gibbs as they prepped for their departure. The biker had been grating on her nerves ever since she'd wandered into the kitchen in search of her jacket, the black man about to go off in search of her before she'd practically run into him. And then Francis had said what no one had been wanting to.

It was inevitable that they split up and it was obvious.

She still didn't know why she was letting it bothering her so much.

Part of her wanted to go after them. Not because of Ellis, but because of _people_. Because they reminded her that she wasn't alone in the world, that Francis and Louis weren't the last two men let alone human beings she would know and that she wasn't the lone woman left in the world. Besides, adding four more to their group would be just as much an advantage as it would be a hindrance.

The girl fought to avoid the dreaded question of what Bill would have done. Bill had willingly sacrificed his life to protect them, so who was she to throw that all away? To get up and go out to face death all over again just because of some small inkling she was failing to ignore? He had clearly stated that they looked after their own, that they were a team—a _family_—and he would do whatever he had to do to keep them safe. And he had.

So now was it her turn?

Under Rochelle's watchful eye, Nick was refilling the last generator that he had been before the Tanks had come crashing down, finding the lone gas can shoved beneath it. Zoey turned in time to see Ellis muttering something to Coach, offering a small smile and being rewarded with a clap to the shoulder as means of apology and acceptance. Apparently her gaze lingered on the exchange for a second too long in Francis' opinion, and there were no holds barred in his honesty.

"You know we can't, Zo,"

Shrugging away from him, she bit at her frown before deciding that trying to hide it was of no use. There were things that needed to be said and damn was she going to say them. It had taken her long enough to even work up the nerve to truly speak her mind, and it had been nearly an hour since their conversation in the kitchen and the thought had been nagging at the back of her mind since Ellis had darted out of the room after he'd kissed her last night.

The four were just about done and it was now or never.

"I don't think we should go to The Keys."

Nausea churned in her stomach at the way Francis' back suddenly stiffened and Louis regarded her with a look she wasn't sure how to interpret. The only sound was that of the movement from below them on the street. The college student resisted the urge to fidget from her vantage point on the ledge, still prepared to press the button that would lower the bridge if need be.

She wasn't surprised when Louis of all people broke the silence.

"Zoey, we already agreed on this. It's the whole reason we're here."

There was a sigh. "I know. I've just been thinking that maybe it wasn't the best plan that we—"

"Are you kidding me?"

Francis' voice was gruff and irritated. The metal beneath them clanked as his boots tromped him closer to her. Her jaw clenched, prepared for a verbal smack down.

"Look, I'm just saying that maybe we should give it more thought. I know that's what we came here to do and I have no problem with it other than the fact that it could probably be better." She said, turning to face him and trying to keep her annoyance out of her voice. She hadn't been a fan of his attitude lately and he hadn't been liking hers either. "Who's to say the The Keys will be any better? That there aren't any zombies, let alone people? What if we end up sinking our boat and drowning? How would that be any better that staying here or going with them? Think about it."

The gloved hands were fists and their owner wasn't sure what to do with them. He couldn't let things just fall apart now.

"Bill would have—"

Maybe it was because he'd chosen to include their loss in his defense or simply because she didn't want them to be alone any more, but something in her snapped.

"Yeah? Well you're not Bill."

She hadn't meant to shout it, earning the attention of the four strolling around on the ground as they all momentarily ceased what they had been doing to glance up. Francis winced and the nausea churned further. For the umpteenth time in the past week all she felt was guilt.

But Zoey had made her decision.

Bill had sacrificed himself so that they could survive. _Survive_, not _live._

It was time to start living.

"Hey! Wait up."


	10. I'm proposing a swift orderly change

Southern Comfort.

**A/N:** The title might actually stay as 'Southern Comfort' because I've been wanting to use the title for a while now. |:  
>And let's get stuff to happen.<br>-insert srs face here- But I guess I don't like some parts of this chapter as much as others...?  
>ohgodwhatis goingonwiththisstory.<p>

_IKillZombiesForFun—_Thank you so so much for all of your help! You seriously have no idea how much I appreciate it, and it really all helps in the long run, thank you. :)  
>And thanks to everyone else who submitted their suggestions! I think I'm definitely going to have to go with The Passing now, haha. I mean really. xD<p>

* * *

><p><strong>10. <strong>I'm proposing a swift orderly change.

* * *

><p><em>"Did this seem like a good idea to you at some time?"<em>  
>—Rochelle<p>

* * *

><p>Coach eyed the tense looking trio apprehensively, hand tightening around one of the water bottles he was sorting through. The plastic crackled in his fist and Rochelle shot him a look as Ellis stilled beside him; Nick narrowed his eyes and his fingers twitched toward the Magnum on his thigh at the nonverbal reaction of the young man.<p>

It wasn't that Coach immensely distrusted these people, but rather than he didn't know them exceedingly well and therefore was still uncertain as to how to go about interacting with them. Joining Francis and Louis on their walk to get the latter's leg back into working condition had generally failed in making any headway relationship-wise, too caught up in scouting out the area and discovering bars of soap.

The farthest they'd gotten in conversation was small talk about which of the so-called 'Specials' they hated the most. Tanks and Witches were winning by a landslide.

Glancing up, he found the first to approach their haphazard band was Zoey, striding quite a ways away from the two men clambering down from the bridge after her, and the former footballer was thrown for a loop when Ellis made no point to raise his head in her direction. The tips of his ears had adopted a nice shade of pink, though.

As the distance between them steadily closed, the only sound was that of abused Converse smacking against pavement and the metallic click that was the conman loading up his gun.

Whatever steam the college girl may have been running on seemed to marginally dissipate around her as she came to a stop under the three careful looks she was receiving. Ellis took his sweet time in peeking out from under the bill of his cap, hands fidgeting with the stockpile of ammunition he was kneeling beside and charged with sorting through before he slowly and painstakingly rose to his feet, Coach's hand wrapped around his bicep as he helped the boy up. Rochelle thought to offer the young woman a small smile as her entourage finally arrived.

"Hey," the mechanic eventually said after a few heartbeats, offering a grin and trying for the life of him not to look too embarrassed when he was caught—by Nick, of course—practically gawking at Zoey, cheeks reddening at the memory of the admittance of having kissed her. Thankfully, she seemed to appreciate his attempt to break the sudden ice first and her stance shifted, pack digging into her lower back to serve as a reminder that they were finally leaving and getting somewhere and also that it was now or never.

Her arms folded over her stomach not in submission, but not in aggression either—she did, more or less, have to ask their permission to join them, since after all she _had_ been one of the most adamant about their separation. Ellis wouldn't have been around to confuse her as much, really, though that wasn't to say that she didn't mind the company.

"Hey," she replied all the same, picking at the material in the crook of her elbow and realizing that she presumably should have come up with something to say in her favor before marching up to the four people she'd once never had any intention of meeting.

Francis hummed in a rather un-amused manner from somewhere behind her, Louis left to settle his weight on his good leg rather than the slowly healing one while they each waited for the girl to speak. The former waited more out of spiteful curiosity than anything.

To be quite honest he was more than just a _little_ perturbed at Zoey's sudden change of heart, having believed that she'd wanted to carry out Bill's plan for their future and treat the past few days with these people as little more than a bump in the road and leave it at that. But damn if they didn't have to go start relating to these people. And now she wanted to scrap their initial plan just because she was lonely? Granted, he knew he wasn't the best company, but they still had Louis and The Keys couldn't possibly be all that bad and she just didn't seem to understand.

More than one person was relieved that they weren't the one in charge of breaking the silence again, seeing as Rochelle then took it upon herself to do so.

"Thank God, I was beginning to think we'd have to leave without you."

More than one person was also confused at her words, but Ellis appeared the most baffled with every right to be, if not insulted. Here she'd been telling him that separating would be for the best and suddenly she was all kumbayah, let's-be-friends? Sure, he'd thought he'd swayed her somewhat earlier when it came to her vote, but still.

Nick had to physically bite his tongue to keep from making any snide remark, granting their visitors with an eye roll before he suddenly became absorbed in snatching one of the few backpacks up off of the ground, grunting at the weight that was a mixture of food and miscellaneous toiletries. As much as he didn't want to admit it, the bag of supplies would presumably have to be one of the first things to go if they found themselves having to make a quick getaway on foot. Making a hasty retreat with a heavy bag wouldn't be easy.

"Ya'll ready to go?" Coach asked, though in some ways perhaps his question was more so aimed at the other three, a majority of who looked more than just a little out of place. Zoey went to nod, believing this to be a sign of permission to come aboard being granted, his next words confirming the thought. "Having a few extra pairs of eyes prolly ain't gonna hurt nuthin'."

Ellis didn't like how they were suddenly going back on their word the way they were. Well, Nick wasn't really, but he didn't quite count in this instance. He didn't like how they'd practically put him down and more or less told him that he was wrong and they were right with question. All the same, he chose to hold his tongue, shoving bullets and magazines into the same bag Coach and Rochelle had been stocking water bottles into.

"We might need more gas, though."

The producer's brow worked its way into a look that was a cross between confusion and near-amusement. "We already filled all of the generators, sweetie."

He also didn't like being called 'sweetie,' but because it was Rochelle he let it slide.

"Nah," the man said, looping his arms through the backpack straps while he watched Louis exchange a look with Zoey out of the corner of his eye. "I meant fer th' car."

To his credit, at least he didn't shy away from the blank or incredulous expressions aimed in his general direction. The large man next to him shook his head, he himself not overly fond of having to eventually abandon the stock car of the man they both admired so but knowing that they would have to at some point. Ellis fixed him with his own look that practically questioned his sanity at considering such a thing, but Nick, not wanting to be stuck in Rayford any longer than he had to was the first to concede with a rather exasperated sound.

"Just get some of the damn gas so we can get the hell out of here. New Orleans isn't going to wait forever." The elder woman quirked a brow as something passed between the Survivors from the North, clearly not having taken the southern band's goal into consideration. Maybe they could just travel with them for as long as they needed to before they split.

But then Ellis pretty much beamed and Louis stopped Francis from making some snide comment.

The biker did, however, appear to lighten up when Rochelle stood and offered to help them collect the supplies that they'd gathered and left on the bridge, the IT technician comically rolling his eyes as he turned and limped after the couple. Zoey was left on her own to try to actually verbalize their request. All she really had to say was _Hey, do you mind if we join you?_ but even that was turning out to be difficult despite the fact that the unasked question had pretty much already been answered.

Nick jabbed the mechanic in the arm to get him to start moving, the latter blushing when he made eye contact with the woman he'd kissed and all but run from the night previous before he turned and starting trailing after the suited man at a pace much slower than his usual.

Coach didn't miss the way Zoey's breath audibly hitched in her throat at the mention of a gas can left in the generator room.

* * *

><p>"You have absolutely no tact, you know that?"<p>

Ellis frowned at the remark, leaning against the side of the lift they'd once ridden in a few days ago, just before they'd gone to rushing about and grabbing shiny miniature tanks and bolting toward generators that were supposed to signal their escape, not his near-death. He chewed at his lip as the metal rattled beneath his feet, pistol clenched firmly in his hand just as a safety precaution that the conman was eying.

"Whaddya want me ta do?" he muttered. "Start strippin' fer her next time?"

The boy may not have been stupid, but he wasn't exactly intelligent when it came to his wording sometimes.

"Shit, no. That'd be even worse." Nick hissed at him, hardly resisting the urge to smack him for his stupidity. "Greet her with something more than 'hey' next time." he scoffed as he came to a rest beside him, the boy having paused to rub at his side as the elder man stepped off and rolled his shoulders.

"...Oh."

His comrade made it a point to begin striding away, muttering under his breath, "Casanova you're not."

Ellis face twisted into a cross between a pout and scowl as he watched Nick disappear around a corner until he finally worked up the nerve to start moving again. He was beginning to regret trying to pull the tough guy act when it came to getting shot and then springing to his feet shortly after. That shit hurt.

The work boots he was wearing made his footsteps echo a little too loudly in the empty corridor around him and he found himself squinting in the dim light for the man he would have liked to consider his friend. He entered the generator room slowly, gun held out before him in one hand and the other braced against the wall as a guide.

"Nick...?" he called out, unnerved by the sound of shuffling and finger itching for the trigger and a target. "Nick!"

"Jesus, Overalls, calm your shit." a voice called back, its tone sarcastic and annoyed. "Over here."

The young man mentally slapped himself, sliding his hand along the wall again as he followed the sound of the other's voice. He grimaced when he spotted the stain smeared across the floor, and under further scrutiny found it to be blood. Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat Ellis steadily approached the nearest generator, partly amazed that they hadn't truly spotted the pool in their earlier haste.

Then again, it was a sickening feeling that he realized that maybe by now they were too used to finding bloodstains that they'd all melded into one blur and by this point if it wasn't theirs than it didn't really matter much.

He gnawed viciously at his lip at the thought, whispering for the conman again.

"Nick? What did you—" His question died on his lips the moment he rounded the metallic monstrosity beside him, breath caught at the sight before him and mind unable to figure out how to reaction properly. "Oh, shit," was the only thing he could think to say as his arms fell limp to his sides and his body unconsciously found itself leaning against the generator.

Nick crouched beside the body carefully, gas can set aside by not disregarded as he took in the slumped figure. A used cigarette lay crushed at his side, plastered to a dry smear of blood and assault rifle held limply in worn, knowledgeable hands with fingers splayed rather than formed into fists that had once beaten back more Infected, mindless fools that he'd cared to count. The green beret was loose on his aged crown and slid over his forehead while bits of his beard were matted down by a substance he'd seen more than enough wandering down the country during the apocalypse, let alone overseas in a land and war that his neighbors had initially never supported.

Ellis reached up to remove his own hat from his head, clenching the fabric in his fist as he brought it to his chest. "Do you think that's...?"

"The man they said they lost?" The elder replied, pivoting on his heels to face the boy. His face wasn't emotionless necessarily, but it lacked the otherwise haughty air he seemed to carry himself with when he wasn't being cynical or exhausted. "Yes."

The mechanic nodded, fidgeting uncomfortably as he continued to watch the other man kneel beside Bill's body. It was like something sharp and heavy had been slammed into his gut when Nick reached toward the deceased man and his weapon.

"Ya can't take th' man's gun, Nick! Tha's jus' disrespectful!"

He was a bit more than just insulted and he only growled at the boy rather they turn to look at him again.

"I'm not, Ellis."

Refusing to elaborate on explaining his actions, the conman then proceeded to shift the grip the slack hands had on the rifle, reaching toward the battered jacket pockets in an effort to learn just who this man was. Ellis muttered something he either didn't caught or just outright ignored, licking at his dry lips as the tips of his fingers brushed against something buried within one of them and it took him a moment to get a grip on it as whatever his find was had begun to slip into a small tear in between the inner pocket and the inside lining of the army jacket.

Nick finally pulled out his hand, extracting a crumpled piece of paper that had clearly been folded and unfolded repeatedly as whatever had been written upon had been edited until its author had finally decided what he wanted to say. From what he could initially see the handwriting was smudged, though he could faintly make out of the names of the three people he was still wary of.

He almost thought to try to read out the rest of what could more or less be deemed the man's last will and testament when there came the sound of something shifting, like a chain brushing against itself. Both men frowned at the noise, watching the folded slip of paper in Nick's hands until a small object on a chain tumbled out of it and landed on the dead man's leg. More out of curiosity than anything the taller of the two reached for it, holding the dog tags suspended in the air before him, Ellis shifted closer in order to get a better look but not wanting to infringe on Bill's space more than they already were.

_OVERBECK  
>WILLIAM H.<br>123-45-6789  
>A NEG<br>CATHOLIC_

The Savannahite listened quietly as the name was read off, part of him wanting to smirk at the thought that they both practiced the same religion—at least, perhaps they had before all of this. Or maybe the veteran had finally decided 'screw it' after watching so many of his friends and people he'd known die before his eyes while praying to a god that had ignored them.

Ellis observed quietly as Nick gently placed his discoveries on a spot on the floor that appeared the cleanest before he set to cautiously shifting Bill's body so that it wasn't so slumped and left to remain forgotten in such a disgraceful manner. His hands were folded along the M16 in his hands and while his head would not stay upright, Nick was able to position him in such a way that to an outside party it simply appear as if he'd sat down to catch a few winks, though the bloodstains told a different story. All the same, he rather...wrong touching the dead body like he was. He meant no disrespect in his actions, only feeling that if the other three were to find him, they shouldn't have to find him sprawled across the floor like a discarded rag doll. Having him look like a man that had died with honor and dignity was the least he could do.

The younger watched as the green-eyed man picked up the note and dog tags once more and after a moment of hesitation undid the bit holding the chain together, sliding off one of the tags before doing it back up again. Sliding the chain around the neck of the veteran he let out a long sigh through his nose, honestly unsure of how to interpret the situation.

"Should we say sumthin'...?" Ellis said after a few moments.

Neither spoke again for a bit, one realizing that even if he had wanted to say something he had nothing to say. He didn't know this man; he didn't know what he was like. As much as he wanted to step up to the plate he knew that he had nothing to offer.

But still, how could they just leave him like this?

They didn't have a choice. The least they could do was offer him their respect, holding a moment of silence before Nick stood.

"We should give these to them," he stated, gesturing to what he had held in his hand before slipping the two objects into his pocket. Something akin to an uncertain whine threatened to whimper its way of Ellis throat, but he was able to hold it back as his comrade bent over to retrieve the gas can that they'd initially come into the generator room for only to find the body of the man they'd only briefly heard of.

Gas held firmly in a pair of ringed hands, the cynic paused just beside the mechanic, uncharacteristically feeling a short pang of sympathy but all the same just wanting to get out of the room before the cruelty of death and loss fully took over the both of them. As it stood now, the shorter of the two was already warring with the lump in his throat that came with the harsh reality before him and the knowledge that perhaps the people he'd been working to befriend over the past few days had yet to find their friend in such a state. (He really, truly didn't want them to. Let them remember Bill for who he was, not for the limp mess of blood and bruises that were supposed to define him now.)

That was in addition to the rest of the emotions that were threatening to flood him after having been held back for so long, ever since this so-called 'apocalypse.'

"There's nothing you could have done, Ellis." Nick said, his tone not quite soft and gentle, but not exactly mean either.

Footsteps echoed as the suited man began his retreat back to the car he was remembering that he hated, leaving the other to remain at his post for another few moments, wringing his hat in his hands as he bowed his head.

"Yer a good man; I know it. And thank you...fer ever'thin'," he murmured, replacing his cap and expressing a look of rather sorrowful acceptance.

Ellis offered one last prayer before he followed Nick back out into the streets.

* * *

><p>If Coach noticed anything wrong with the way the other optimistic was acting, he didn't say anything.<p>

Zoey, however, was a completely different story. In the ten minutes or so it had taken Nick and Ellis to get and collect that final gas can—what were they doing, playing hide-and-seek with each other to kill eight minutes in the time it should have taken to pass the other two?—she'd also managed to strike up a fairly decent conversation with the eldest man with them, finally working up the nerve to ask if she could join them and getting something like a rather hearty laugh in response. She was quick to note the fact that it was rather forced at first.

Rochelle turned away in time to notice the scowl Nick was aiming in Francis general direction as the latter chuckle mid-whatever story he was trying to tell her and she reciprocated with one of her own. Becoming aware of the rather dismal look on Ellis' face that he was trying to hide, the producer was about to question it when the man beside him clutching the can of gas gave only a slight shake of his head. Something passed between them silently and she understood, though she frowned all the same.

The kid adopted a rather bashful look when he glanced up and found the college girl studying him curiously, questioning how she ought to interpret his fairly unusual behavior. Maybe it he was just acting a bit 'off' because of the ways things had gone down between their two groups, but then again after last night...well, she wasn't sure what to think of that. He'd just blushed a rather dark shade of red, stuttered like he was going to apologize and they practically hightailed it out of the room.

Him embarrassed? Sure, she couldn't handle that. But him trying to act like nothing had happened? Oh hell no, he had to man up and accept his actions.

...Even if she hadn't exactly responded in the most positive manner. At least she hadn't slapped him.

Funny how Ellis was pretty much thinking the same thing.

"Got th' gas," he finally mumbled, nodding to the canister Nick was about to dump into the tank of the stock car, much in the same way he had back at the atrium what felt like a lifetime ago. He granted the boy with a _you don't say?_ sort of stare and then went back to going about his business, leaving Ellis to blush further.

"Just shut up and get in the car." the conman hissed back as the last of the gasoline dribbled out, given a few extra shakes for good measure. Louis chuckled at the exchange, engaging Coach in a bit of conversation as Francis hoisted the last of their few bags over his shoulder. Rochelle rolled her eyes and offered the youngest male a soft pat on the back, smiling at Zoey and trying to tell herself not give Nick a swift smack on the back of the head for a few of her own reasons.

There was silence as Ellis and Zoey were left alone together.

"So..." he said after a few beats, interlocking his fingers and cracking his knuckles. It was almost painful to what his attempt at conversation, but at least he was trying.

She only nodded in response, shifting the weight of the bag strapped to her back. "Yeah."

He tried to grin, he really did. Whatever else he'd been wanting to say—_No, El, we ain't askin' 'bout the weather this time, okay?_—was cut off as he watched a frown mar the girl's features and he found himself mimicking it. Green eyes glanced away from his blue ones and he turned to follow her gaze, finding it aimed at the beloved Jimmy Gibbs Jr. stock car. He turned back to her in confusion, not exactly seeing what had her bothered so. Was it the color? Did she just not like Jimmy Gibbs?

"How many people can fit in this car, exactly?"

Oh. Well, that was a good point.

It was clear that he had obviously not thought his plan through when he proposed that they all travel together via stock car. As a result, he said the most eloquent thing he could think of:

"Uh,"

* * *

><p>While it was by no means the worst car ride of anyone's life, it wasn't exactly the greatest one either. Francis and Nick had been crammed up in the front seat next to one another, each grumbling about it until a certain someone had raised her hands to give them both a swift whap to the back of the head. At the time Louis chuckled at Rochelle's antic, left to sit in what would have been a backseat with his leg stretched out before him, the other bent into his chest in order to make room for the other still recovering man and the amount of supplies they had. The woman had, grinning to herself, swiveled back into her makeshift seat behind the driver, crossing her legs and trying not to appear too smug.<p>

Coach had been granted to sole privilege of driving much to Ellis' dismay, but on the plus side...

...well, he did get to spend a great duration of their car ride into oblivion was spent with Zoey perched on his lap. Mostly because there was no seating otherwise, but he wasn't complaining and quite frankly neither was she for the time being.

The young man sat cross-legged in the back beside Louis and Rochelle, the college girl shifting subtly on his legs as she tried to make herself comfortable and keep things from being awkward. She knew that the man liked her—it was a well-known fact amongst the lot of them, really, and as far as she knew none of them knew of the interaction that had gone on between them the night before—but it was something else entirely to have them practically forced into the situation they were. However, her only choice was to remain where she was now or sit out on the roof and cling to it for dear life.

And so, sitting on Ellis had seemed to be the better option and he didn't seem to mind.

His hand gripped her waist every time they a pothole or some other sort of bump in the road and she almost elbowed him the nose a few times as he did so, most of those 'bumps in the road' being the zombies that had been attracted by the sound of the bridge being lowered before Coach had plowed through them.

Then there was the fact that the lip of his cap kept whacking her in the face, smacking her temple and jabbing her in the cheek to consider.

Five minutes and ten apologies later Ellis was left without his hat and a vast majority of the passengers were left to laugh as Zoey jokingly threatened to beat him with it. Even Francis sniggered to compliment Louis' chuckles along with Rochelle and Coach's own bits of mirth.

The way the boyish mechanic's face flushed without the bill to hide under was just an added bonus.

There was laughter again and the dog tags and note in Nick's pocket felt all that much heavier.


	11. Still moving regardless of stable ground

Southern Comfort.

**A/N: **Thanks, guys. :)  
>I'm a moron. I didn't realize you need <em>Microsoft Points<em> to get DLC's, not _Gamer Points._ fail. However! That's what my friend is for. We're trying to get all the achievements, and I am going to use her. But it's okay, because it works out in the end.

Completely butchered the motel rooms. But yeah.

I'm going to shamelessly plug _IKillZombiesForFun_ and you're going to like it.

Hey, out of curiosity: if you could kill off _any_ of the remaining 7 Survivors (i.e. _anyone_ in this story)...who would it be?

* * *

><p><strong>11.<strong> Still moving regardless of stable ground.**  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>"I think our options are keep moving down the road towards those lights or die here. Anyone in the "die here" camp? No? Then let's move out."<br>_—Nick

* * *

><p>Zoey laughed, leaving Ellis to grin to himself as a result as she had to remind herself to keep her voice down a bit least they wake the others from their slumber. They'd only fallen asleep not even half an hour ago, and as such the two youngest Survivors were left to amuse themselves and figure out how to go about striking up some sort of conversation unless they wanted to spend the next undisclosed amount of time sitting in silence save for the rumble of dirt and pavement beneath the stock car's wheels.<p>

In order to avoid spending the rest of the remainder of their trip—again, however long it may be—in such a state, they had in fact taken to shooting the breeze and other variations of small talk. While initially they'd fumbled and Ellis had come across as fairly awkward yet again, he maintained a firm grip on the steering wheel and would occasionally cast a sidelong glance out of the corner of his eye as they talked and he drove in a manner that Zoey found almost endearing.

Wedged up in what was supposed to be the front seat between the boy and Coach wasn't exactly the highlight of her day, but it was clear that the band from Savannah had attempted to gut part of the stock car's interior. They'd previously set to work removing otherwise useless add ons and in doing so proved her with some leg room, so she was grateful for at least that. And Coach had also had the thought in mind to shove himself against the door as much as he could, granting the girl a bit more space, even though part of her still jumped every time Ellis' arm brushed against her upon impact with every pothole that decided to greet their tires. If the shocks on the stock car weren't weak already it was miracle that they didn't simply snap off.

It was also a miracle that the other passengers hadn't been disrupted from their slumber with the amount of jostling going on, but the two figured that so long as there was no screaming or gunshots they'd stay asleep. Louis had remained in his position tucked away in the very back, legs propped up on the few bags of guns and supplies that they had, leaving room for Francis and Rochelle, the woman unwittingly curled into the former's side as he dozed against the back of Ellis' seat. Facing Rochelle sat Nick with his arms and legs crossed, something similar to what appeared to be a pout marring his features at the sight. It was this look that Zoey was sniggering at when she turned back around to the sound of Ellis' voice as he continued speaking.

"…I mean, ever'one knows 'bout _Stairway to Heaven_, right? But what about their other songs? They wrote a helluva lot more'n jus' one—like _Misty Mountain Hop_. I mean, sure it ain't the best song in the world, but I like it." he was saying, ticking through his mental list of known Led Zeppelin songs.

They'd taken to discussing music for the past ten minutes, moving onto the merits of Led Zeppelin and Lynyrd Syknyrd as opposed to whatever bop-y music had been most recently floating around before the Infection. They hadn't quite gotten to talking about movies or video games just yet and Zoey was too busy trying to gauge the boy's musical taste before she considered bringing up Call of Duty.

She nodded to him with a thoughtful hum, foot nudging against the baseball bat and crowbar that had been stowed beneath the front seat sometime before their departure as she brought her knees up to her chest to dig her heels into the edge of her seat as she wound her arms around them. With a small smile he gave the wheel a gentle tug, steering around a small patch of debris as he waited for her further response.

"Queen?"

"You know it," he grinned, debating belting out part of _Bohemian Rhapsody_ and the girl rolled her eyes. "You?"

"I guess. I'm more of a The Monkees or Pink Floyd person, though. But I like them enough." Zoey said, resting her chin on her knees and found that she was smiling in spite of herself to match his expression as he said something along the lines of: _Floyd. Nice._ The northerner turned and chuckled at him as the mechanic starting singing lines of _Welcome to the Machine_, albeit non-too perfectly and she found herself absently staring at his face for a moment more than was necessary (not that he noticed).

From where she sat Ellis' profile was illuminated by the steadily setting sun as it was swallowed by the horizon, highlighting the way the corners of his eyes crinkled in humor. At least the eye that she was facing wasn't the bloody one that made her want to cringe and would have killed the moment with the number of rather unhappy memories it brought. His singing voice also wasn't the worst she'd ever heard, but she could also tell it probably wasn't his true one judging from the way he didn't seem to be trying too hard.

"Okay, I got one fer ya," he cut in to his own performance. "Nirvana."

Zoey smiled and nodded earnestly. "Alright, now we're talkin'."

The Savannahite gave a hearty laugh, momentarily disregarding the sleeping masses set around him, though Francis grunted and Nick frowned at the sound. He gave the female a sidelong glance, catching the gambler in his peripherals and something hitched in his throat as a memory from the bridge mentally slapped him across the face.

_…First datin' days are over. Nick, by the way, I'm gonna have to borrow yer suit 'cause we're skippin' right to the marriage, brother, then we're goin' cross country. Just her, me, 'n the Jimmy Gibbs Jr. _

Ellis had only been partly kidding about marrying Zoey and taking her on a road trip, but suddenly here they were in that damn stock car cruising down the only stretch of highway that they found that wasn't blocked off. There were a couple of extra passengers, sure, but eh, close enough.

Thankful for the twilight and growing darkness, he chuckled to hide his blush, "Sell the kids for food."

"Weather changes moods," she chimed back.

Amused for the time being they turned away from each other, the red tint to Ellis' cheeks dying down only marginally and Zoey leaning forward to squint through the dirty windshield as she spotted something vaguely familiar to her. Giving her a quick glance, he regarded her curiously as she sat back with a slight frown.

"Hey, have you ever heard of the Midnight Riders?"

Ellis almost had to slam on the brakes.

"_Hell yeah_ I have!" he all but shouted. "They're just one of the greatest rock bands on the face of the planet!" The large man at her side gave a small snort in his sleep to mark his approval. Knocking his voice down a level at the sound Rochelle made behind him, the mechanic went on to inquire: "Why'd'ya ask?"

As much as she wanted to gesture to the giant billboard they'd just driven past, she also figured that they could all probably do without the added distraction so she merely shrugged. "Just curious. My dad had a few of their CDs and I guess they're okay."

Their car slowed as it grew darker and the occasional abandoned car began cropping up in increasing numbers, but it may also been the fact that its driver was too busy spluttering to focus enough on the road. It was almost amusing in all honesty.

"_Just _okay? Just _okay?"_ he practically scoffed, also debating flipping on the headlights but not wanting to attract unwanted attention. "That's like sayin' the Jimmy Gibbs is _just_ a car. That's like sayin' the Mona Lisa's _just_ a sculpture er shit. That's like sayin' yer jus' a little purty. Yer—"

Ellis cut himself off and looked like his eyes were just about going to bulge out of his head at the last second realization that he'd almost called Zoey an angel aloud. It was bad enough that Nick had decided to fill her in on his senseless ramblings upon their first meeting at the bridge but something else entirely to admit it himself.

"...gonna pretend you never said that?" the girl offered and he sighed a 'thank you' by means of response. A few minutes passed between them in silence, letting the sight of a mini-van with its doors thrown open slip by while pointedly ignoring the car seat and personal artifacts strewn about on the highway. Ellis' face was marred with a frown and he was debating flipping on the high beams when he chose to speak again.

"Actually, no." Zoey glanced at him with mild curiosity. "It's probably better it ya jus'—shit."

An eyebrow spiked. "Excuse me?"

Rather than grant a reply to clear everything up, the mechanic only frowned further, trying not to press down on the brakes too hard but almost doing so as he leaned forward and squinted. After much inner conflict he finally switched the headlights on only to be rewarded with the unwanted sight that was a sea of abandoned cars parked along their path.

With a heavy sigh the boy ran his hand down his face as they rolled to a stop, making quick work of opening the driver's side door and hoisting himself out it with little more than an added grunt. Cursing to herself at the sudden interruption of their journey out into the great beyond, the girl shook her head and followed his example, accidentally jostling Coach in the process, elbowing him in the shoulder and murmuring an apology as he was startled in consciousness. He grumbled to himself and then clambered out after them, only to find the male scowling down at the hood, almost as if part of him desperately wanted to study it solely for the fact that it had belonged to Jimmy Gibbs Jr., the other telling him to simply wake the others so that they could be on their way.

Acknowledging Coach, the girl turned back into the car and began pawing beneath the seat for the crowbar with which she could open the trunk. The larger man inclined his head in greeting as he fully awoke and the younger addressed him, leaning back against the hood and letting his eyes rove over their surroundings.

Zoey had just finished fighting with the trunk as it popped open, effectively dumping Louis on the ground. The man chuckled as she helped him to his feet, Nick taking a deep breath through his nose and cracking his neck to free it from its stiff position when the mechanic rapped against the windshield in order to rouse the others before engaging their impromptu leader in the discussion involving the prized stock car and number of races it had been in while they waited for the others to join them. Climbing into the outside world, the gambler ignored how Francis helped Rochelle out of the car and instead sneered at the landscaped, snagging a pack on his way.

"Looks like we're walking from here," Louis said, rolling his shoulders as Nick did his eyes, stating the obvious.

"You don't say." he muttered, scratching at the stubble forming along his jaw line that he'd been meaning to shave before they left, Zoey shooting him a look before glancing down at the tool in her hands, briefly considering whacking him upside the head with it. A small smirk formed at the thought, though it was interrupted by Francis' yawn and Ellis' declaration.

"Sorry folks, this car may be capable of miracles but it can't drive over twenty miles of parked cars." he said, taking a backpack proffered by Rochelle as the woman adjusted the straps of her own. The younger woman shouldered one of her own and exchanged some quick words about Louis' well-being—namely in concern for his leg—when Nick glowered at the stock car for his own reasons.

"God _damn_ you, Jimmy Gibbs Jr." Both of the Savannahites pulled a face, though only one verbalized his feelings.

"Now that was just uncalled for. Serious."

"Yeah," Francis said, cracking his knuckles. "Don't go mockin' the Taco Dog, man."

Ellis looked as if he wanted to say something else to retort, but thought better of it and kept his mouth shut, honestly too tired to really start anything. Coach gave him a pat to the shoulder, Zoey and Louis shooting a look at one another as Rochelle let her gaze rove skyward. It wasn't until Coach nudged the suited man forward that it hit them that they ought to get moving unless they wanted to keep standing in the headlights of the stock car as they were.

The first few moments of their journey was fairly uneventful—the IT technician engaging the reporter beside him in brief snatches of conversation while the football coach was sure to put some distance between the two elder men that looked about ready to clock one another. Zoey shot Ellis a studious, confused glance with a small frown, once again unsure of what to think of him and growing more annoyed with that fact as time went on. She all but rammed into Francis, almost getting jabbed in the gut with the bat he was holding when he suddenly stopped in front of her.

"Francis, what the hell?" she muttered, debating the repercussions of shoving him forward. The high beams only provided so much light for them to travel in, and it was beginning to wane as they wove through the maze of vehicles, though it did provide her with enough to follow his gaze in time to find Coach paused as well.

"...is that a peanut?" the biker whispered harshly, squinting at a billboard off the side of the highway in a manner that almost made him look amused. The college girl followed suit, narrowing her eyes at the cartoon-ish grin with an 'uhh.'

"Hey, Whisperin' Oaks! Shit, I used to go there when I was a kid!" the low voice was enough to provide them with an answer, and she shrugged before brushing past him, keeping a wary eye out for the Infected that they had surprising yet to run into.

"Oh, good. Now we can die there as adults." All right, so maybe Nick was a _little_ funny. Not a whole helluva lot, but enough to get her to crack a grin.

Ellis smirked, but then the conman spoke again, this time more of an annoyed hiss than sarcastic deadpan. "These abandoned cars go on for _miles_!"

"Maybe they left them when they got rescued." Rochelle supplied, the gun in her hands feeling rather heavy with nothing to shoot at. Pulling the trigger and letting bullets rip through bodies was not something she rather looked forward to, yet they'd only just begun to establish a sense of normalcy that was zombie hunting. Having none of them to kill was like handing a starving man a steak dinner and then telling him not to eat any of it. It just wasn't right. She sighed at the rather poor excuse for a simile, too tired to really think of anything else. The producer really hadn't slept for that long, having too caught up in listening to brief snippets of the conversation in the front seat and trying not to get caught to really think.

So they both liked Pink Floyd. Cute.

The younger woman didn't really seem to fully support the elder's guess, quietly murmuring to herself: "That's...one theory."

She missed the mechanic's brief scowl, though it was in fact suddenly aimed somewhere behind them.

"Ya'll hear that?"

As if wandering around in the dark just waiting to be attacked hadn't set them on edge enough. Ellis' words practically had them on hi-alert and ready to shoot first and ask questions later. Zoey's fingers were just itching towards the triggers of the pistols she'd finally gotten back, watching her road trip companion carefully reach for the rifle that he'd strapped to his back after a brief altercation with the gambler.

"Boy, ya'll're makin' us paranoid," Coach finally said after a few heartbeats of silence, various sets of eyes flickering across the highway and litter that was abandoned cars in attempt to soothe the nerves he'd just frayed further. It took a bit before the young man gave a slow nod, Francis giving him a scowl (though it may have been geared more toward the fact that he didn't have any heads to bash in) before shifting his grip on his bat to a looser hold.

There was another quiet cough and suddenly everyone's back went rigid once more.

"Aw, shit," Nick grumbled, green eyes narrowing into slits as they each tried to take aim at their unseen spectator once more.

"Sorry, sorry," Louis said, sheepishly holding a hand up in a weak form of surrender. "That was me."

A certain someone looked like a blood vessel was about to burst in his head and Francis gave him a gentle jostle to his shoulder.

"Smooth," he snickered. "One more time and I woulda thought ya were one'uh those smokin' vampires."

Zoey muttered something along the lines of _Zombies, Francis. Zombies._ with a shake of her head, Rochelle giving an amused snorted before moving to join Coach in the lead, traipsing around a nearby Sedan and flicking off the safety of her gun for good measure. The two men from the North picked up their pace and joined the other four, the other clearing his throat one final time before informing them that he'd try to keep any more coughing to a minimum; the girl hooked her thumb over her shoulder to gesture to the water bottles stowed her in backpack and promising him one as soon as they made their first pit-stop.

The conman rolled his eyes from where he stood a few yards away from the two, though his finger never left the trigger of his gun.

A knowing looked passed between Ellis and Nick, the former chancing once last glance behind them before joining the latter in bringing up the rear, the Jimmy Gibbs Jr. serving as one last beacon of light before they wandered off into the dark.

* * *

><p>"Unless you want to die, don't shoot that car."<p>

Nick's sense of humor was rather dull and sorely lacking at the moment, and Francis' quick snort was all that his quip was met with, the others too tired and otherwise unnerved to really provide much reaction-wise. From what they'd each experience thus far in their adventures, setting off car alarms did not end well and got them all kinds of attention they didn't want. One by a pawn shop back up in Pennsylvania had successfully pissed off a Witch when Zoey had tripped over her in haste to get to a safe room and another in Savannah had brought a few dozen careening toward Liberty Mall and the four still trying to come to grips with one another.

It didn't help that it just so happened to be sitting right in front of the motel they were debating whether or not it was a good idea to stay in for the night.

Ellis audibly yawned into the back of his hand, leaning against out of the beams supporting the overhang of the motel's front desk, blue eyes rather misty as they carefully scanned the parking lot in the thin fog lazing about. Maybe it was just him, but it was either too early or too late to still be up. Between sitting in the back with the girl he had a crush on sitting in his lap and driving, there really hadn't much room for getting some shut-eye, something the people next to him where quickly picking up on.

"Ya'll gotta rest up 'fore ya end on yer ass," Coach said, laughing slightly as he clapped the young man on the shoulder, causing the latter to sway a bit. He took a steady breath of cool air in through his nose before he addressed him.

"Hmm?" he hummed rather than said, finally coming off his brief adrenaline high that had resulted from picking off a few wandering zombies—the first in days, minus the Witch back at the mini mart in Rayford—to let his exhaustion creep in. Since when had walking a couple of miles winded him so much? He'd run track for a few years in high school and had sprinted down numerous blocks with Keith after some of their shenanigans without having to double over and wheeze for breath and here he desperately trying to ignore the dull pang in his side if only to keep the others from worrying about him more so.

Sometime flashed across Zoey's face, but he was honestly too drowsy to address it.

It took him a moment before he realized someone was talking to him. "Ellis?"

He blinked a couple of times, tearing his gaze away from the girl putting a great deal of effort into reloading her gun to level his gaze with Rochelle, eyes half-lidded and another yawn creeping up his throat. The woman chuckled, stepping forward to grab his arm and tug him forward, causing him to stumble over his feet much to his chagrin and the others' amusement.

"C'mon, you're dead on your feet and I think we could all do with some sleep," she said, finalizing a decision that the group had been toying with for the past few moments as the young Georgian zoned out and leaving little room for argument as they all realized just how tired they were.

"'Mkay," he mumbled, trying so hard not to yawn again and making a face because of it. Rochelle grinned again as Francis and Louis offered to take first watch. At least, Louis had willingly and then volunteered Francis as well. The biker was grumbling and folding his arms across his chest but making no argument as the lot of them went off to search through rooms.

Short pops in rapid succession informed them all of the discovery and death of the threat that was whatever zombie had been found in whatever room. The few they found devoid of bodies and possessing working doors that locked were deemed the cleanest and safest, though the dressers were shoved against the entryways of them regardless. In all honesty, they were just glad that the ones they'd chosen to room in had no windows, as there was probably nothing worse than waking up to the sight of a roaming Infected peeking into your room as you slept.

...well, okay, sure there were a few things that could probably be much worse, but they chose not to dwell on those thoughts.

Nick ended up bunking with Coach and Louis with Francis, the men making it a point to find whatever cots and pull-out couches there were in order to avoid having to actually share a bed. Rochelle actually rolled her eyes at how childish they were being, but nonetheless wished them all a 'good night' before she gently shut the door connecting their rooms behind her.

With a bit of snark she just chocked it up to them being jealous of the fact that Ellis was sharing a room with two women, though he'd chivalrously granted them the bed in exchange for the couch that truly looked non-too comfortable.

Speaking of not looking too comfortable, Zoey hovered by the head of the bed, barely perched upon it and simply regarding her bunk mates quietly. It wasn't that she didn't trust the two of them—if came down to it, these two were probably the two she trusted the most out of the four from Savannah, though from what she'd seen Coach wasn't too bad and Nick...well, Nick was another story—but rather she didn't want to come off as too imposing and simply take over. As much as she would have liked to sleep in an actual bed for the night (who was to say where they'd be sleeping next?) she didn't want to think that either of the other two had to give it up just for her.

She actually liked Rochelle and Ellis, to be honest. Maybe one just a little more so than the other.

Not that she was going to say anything on the matter, but Rochelle was actually gunning for the younger two to share the bed, even if she didn't want to end up on the shitty couch.

Both women were about to tell him that he could have the bed if would help at all, but he didn't really leave them much choice, plopping himself down on the cushion and offering them a smile and, "G' night, y'all."

Ellis was out before his head hit the pillow.

They each laughed to herself, exchanging a look and shrug before hunkering down for the night, the younger curling into her pillow and the smell of must rather than decay and murmuring a good night to the elder woman curled up on the other side of the bed. Laying in silence for a few minutes, it wasn't until Ellis snored once that they laughed again, abruptly reminding themselves to keep it down a bit least they disturb the men on the other side of the wall. This only caused them to giggle harder, hands at their mouth or face buried in their pillow to stifle the sound as the boy made another noise and shifted, knocking his hat to the floor and muttering something to himself about telling Keith to keep it down.

Zoey was the first to initiate conversation, unable to fall asleep for a bit, and Rochelle was more than unwilling to comply, obviously relieved by the fact that she wasn't the last woman on the face of the planet. In all honesty their discussion began mostly as small talk before it eventually evolved into stories about their recent adventures in the apocalypse—or at least, the ones before they'd met. The college girl was sure to skimp on a few of the finer details, not exactly ready to begin talking about Bill. Rochelle didn't push it, and for that she was grateful.

Ellis' face scrunched up a bit in his sleep, but the movement went unnoticed in the dark.

Eventually, the conversation lulled, and Zoey let herself slip into unconsciousness, Rochelle's soft whispers regaling her with stories of Cleveland as the sudden image of a now all-too-familiar shirt logo floated across her eyelids.

The elder woman smiled and turned away as the girl slept peacefully for the first time in days.

* * *

><p>Nick lay awake for another hour, the feeling of being followed and the insistent hack of a Smoker nagging at the back of his mind.<p>

Zoey dreamt of her father; Ellis dreamt of being strangled.

Both awoke to the sound of someone screaming.


	12. These things take my time and energy

Southern Comfort.

**A/N:** WELL. Now then.  
>slower updates from now on kinda-sorta-maybe. Need to take care of things and figure out where this story is going, exactly.  
>The ironic thing is that while I was writing the whole how-Ellis-feels-about-Zoey bit the song 'Making Memories of Us' came on. I mean really. |:<p>

Also. You're all horrible people: when I asked about killing off any Survivors, I was kidding. And even if I did kill someone off, it would probably be one that you like. :D /kidding

* * *

><p><strong>12.<strong> These things take my time and energy.

* * *

><p><em>"What are you doin' down there? We've got zombies to kill 'n shit."<em>__  
>—<em>_Ellis

* * *

><p>For the life of him, Ellis could not remember getting into the bed. Hell, he couldn't even remember waking up and <em>getting off the couch<em>. Apparently in his sleep induced haze he'd failed to notice Rochelle's absence, and as such had gone about emptying his bladder in the attached, dilapidated looking bathroom and then clambered into the bed that had thus far proven much more comfortable than the angry fibers he'd been sprawled across.

Zoey could be quite mobile while she slept, Ellis had quickly learned. Truth be told, he only woke up because her fist had bopped him in the nose, thankfully interrupting his sleep and dream that had consisted of being choked to death by a Smoker. Attempting to move out of her line of fire he shifted just so, trying not to jostle her at all and was instead rewarded by an arm draped across his chest.

The mechanic froze as her fingers twitched, almost fingering the thin gauze pad Coach had told him to keep wearing beneath his shirt. The girl turned, pressing her nose his uninjured side and he swore she could probably feel his heart thud against it. The boy cursed under his breath as he felt her own beat against his bicep, it being successfully pinned between them and beneath her from where she was lying on it.

Ellis glanced around the motel room, eying the door that connected to the one the other four men had bunked in and all the while wondering where the hell Rochelle was.

"Ro..." he began to call out to her, if only to determine where she was before they all drifted back off to sleep.

Ellis spent the next ten minutes slowly trying to worm his way off of the bed in order to return to his couch; Zoey spent the next ten moving around in her sleep.

It wasn't that he particularly minded their close contact (well, okay, maybe a _little_), but rather he didn't want to be in the same bed as her when she woke up and have her think he was being too forward__—__oh god, what if Francis or one of the others walked in and thought he was trying to take advantage of her? With that in mind he made it his goal to extract himself from the arm encircling him, chocking it up to the many challenges he'd taken part in with his buddies.

"Alright El, I dare ya ta get outta the bed," he muttered to himself. In saying so he was reminded of the sarcastic dares that had once been while he was in high school when it came to girls and advances. Mr. I'm-Three-Years-Older-Than-You-And-Therefore-Have-More-Experience-Than-You-Do Keith had at times cracked jokes about his lack of a girlfriend, even though he himself could hardly hold down a relationship of his own. "Challenge accepted."

Ellis had just lightly grasped her wrist when Zoey made a sudden noise in the back of her throat. She frowned and he stilled until she sighed and made herself comfortable again. It wasn't until the girl sighed and started practically nuzzling his chest that Ellis finally stopped to think.

This was Zoey. This was the girl he'd only know for maybe five days tops__—__only four of which he truly remembered, even though one was a blur of running through a mall and stealing a car__—__but he still found that he really, _really_ liked her. Keith would have told him that the best way to go about telling Zoey was to stop dancing around egg shells and just do it, but he still hadn't as of yet for fear of coming across as too intense. Then again, Nick had pretty much blown it for him anyway.

He knew he needed to tone it down and take it slow before he scared her but they didn't really have a lot of options at the time__—__

The young man gave a soft groan and ran his hand down his face at the thought, his annoyance disrupted by the quiet sniff from the girl curled into his side and then Ellis found himself truly looking at her. Five days ago he had called her pretty__—__an _angel___—__yes, and he would stand by that statement because he thought it was true. And might he add that she looked much...calmer while she was asleep. There was no frown or scowling, no anger or annoyed gnawing at a lower lip, just a relaxed, calm look as her breathing slowed and evened.

Ellis did have to admit that, given enough time and well-executed opportunities, he could get used to waking up like this.

Catching himself staring and starting to fantasize about a zombie-less world he looked away blushing, his heart still hammering away in his ribcage.

There was no use in planning out a future with the girl if that wasn't something that she wanted__—__how could he do that? Sure he was allowed to have his little daydreams and the like, but _still_. He needed to ensure that she liked him that way and if she didn't...

...well she didn't. He couldn't make her.

Zoey's brow twitched in time with his sigh.

No, he couldn't _make_ her like him, but if she didn't that would just...majorly suck. Ellis was not the sort of man to go around chasing skirts, despite the quips with some of his friends from his teenage years and the only time he liked a girl was when he _liked_ a girl, not just because everyone else had a girlfriend and he'd be the odd one out if he didn't or because she was pretty.

He'd been the butt of enough jokes about his lack of a girlfriend the first two years of high school and he'd be damned if he was going to let that get to him now. Besides, he'd been the victim of that damn friend-zone more times than he cared to count. (_Only three times, Ellis. Calm your shit._)

Zoey shifted again, bringing his attention back to the present.

"Focus, Ellis," he hissed to himself, trying to wave away the mental image of his first 'official' girlfriend from the summer just after sophomore year__—__Rebekka. Her name had been Rebekka and she'd been kinda pretty and__—__"God damnit, Ellis! Come _on!_"

The Savannahite moved just barely, and the girl's arm curled in on itself atop his chest. He watched the motion in silence, his eyes trailing up from the wrist to few loose hairs curled against her neck before his gaze settled upon her face once more. Again, it was hard to ignore that tiny pang that made it painfully obvious just how he felt about her.

He'd kissed her the night before and, timid little fool that he was, had booked it out of there as fast as he could (which had been quite fast for a man with a bullet hole in his side). As far as he knew Zoey hadn't had a problem with it, but neither of them had brought it up in the car while the others had been asleep. Well, he'd more or less told Nick and the others back when they were all debating separating and sticking together...and it was fairly obvious what Ellis thought of Zoey and it was therefore presumably no big secret what had happened between the two. And if he'd been able to kiss her once maybe he could__—__

Without much preamble the college student suddenly rolled away from him, flopping onto her back as she let a deep breath out through her nose.

That gave him an idea—not a brilliant idea, but an idea nonetheless.

It was a simple, quick, and presumably stupid gesture, but he was suddenly overcome with the urge to brush Zoey's hair away from her face, if only to smooth out the frown lines that were beginning to form on her recently calm features and as if there was truly something going on between them. (_Oh lord, El, why._) Swallowing and attempting to steel his nerve, Ellis managed to prop himself up on his left elbow, rolling onto his good side as he timidly reached forward. He was balanced precariously on the edge of the bed, putting some strain on his wound as he twisted and realizing that she'd either wake up and somewhat appreciate the gesture or see him as a pervert that liked watching her sleep.

The mechanic was definitely hoping for the former.

A soft grunt escaped his lips as he gently shifted, and his finger tips were about to brush against the few strands clumped against her forehead when he abruptly halted. This was being too forward. He honestly had no right to touch her in any manner other than helping her off the ground or maybe some quick help with a few bandages; other than that there was really nothing he could do without her consent.

Rightfully conflicted, the boy continued to hover for a moment before he finally made up his mind with a blunt nod to himself. Still balanced on his elbow, Ellis turned away, he made to sit up and swing his feet over the edge in order to either go hunt for Rochelle or return to his couch for a few more hours of R&R.

Zoey then proceeded to sharply turn back and practically shove him.

With nothing to grab onto for leverage__—__he couldn't very well reach out for the girl__—__the mechanic was sent tumbling over the edge of the bed with a startled yelp. This cry awoke his attacker, and she then sat up with her own bewildered look, finding herself alone. and gently calling out for her comrade.

"Ellis?"

His response was little more than harsh gasp as his stitches burst when he hit the floor.

And then Rochelle screamed.

* * *

><p>Rochelle had only gotten up due to the fact that she hadn't even been able to sleep to begin with. She'd been able to doze for roughly an hour or so, but movement from Zoey and the nagging feeling that no one was keeping watch had made her restless and up and moving in no time.<p>

The fact that she was hungry was just an added bonus, having forgone a granola bar that she'd been offered before been and instead practically shoving it down Ellis' throat.___  
><em>__

Chewing idly at bits of chocolate in the bar she'd snagged from her pack, the woman sat perched just outside the hotel room, now holding her dinner in one hand and gun in the other. Georgia's humid midnight air had her shirt clinging to her back as she ran the back her fist across her forehead, scanning the parking lot and surrounding walkway while the alarmed car flashed dangerously beneath her.

Rochelle took a final bite and shoved the wrapper into her pocket and checked the ammunition in her gun, reprimanding herself for having ventured out on her own. She leaned against the wall and kept her ears trained for any and all unwelcome sounds, Ellis having been so adamant about hearing a Smoker back on the highway and she having no plans of being caught off guard.

Francis was just lucky that she didn't blast his head off when he came wandering out of another room.

"Damn," she cursed lightly to herself, lowering her weapon as he his hands. The man chuckled softly and scratched at the side of neck absently, waiting for her to continue. "You couldn't sleep either?"

"Had to take a leak," he muttered before realizing how crude he sounded. Rochelle didn't seem to really care. "And the toilet in our room is kinda..."

"Ew," the producer pulled a face.

Francis shrugged. "'Least the door closes; Colonel Sanders had a hissy fit, though."

Rochelle pretty much giggled at that, and he took it as an incentive to keep talking.

"So what's a pretty young thing like you doing out in the dark alone?"

She wasn't sure whether to take that as a compliment or a jest, so she instead blushed and held up her gun. The biker nodded, tiling his head just enough to expose the butt of his own shotgun. "I didn't really like the idea of no one keeping watch so I thought I'd do it. It's been kind of...boring, actually."

Francis was about to say something when the sound of movement caught their attention, both turning slightly to the tune of shuffling and someone muttering. Rochelle quirks a 'brow and Francis looked none too thrilled as they eyed the door to the room that Zoey and Ellis had been left alone in. Where the woman was a bit amused something in the man's face darkened and he had half a mind to break the door down.

And he actually was about to when there came a sudden yelp followed by someone hitting the floor.

"What the hell____—"____

____"Augh!" ____Rochelle's scream interrupted his rather annoyed inquiry and he glanced over just in time to watch her stumbled backwards as an elongated tongue wrapped around her torso, jamming her rifle into her stomach.

"Ro!" he shouted, lunging forward and trying to find purchase on the nasty appendage.

"Let go, let go!" she chanted and jerked as the Smoker gave another tug. The ruckus they were causing had successfully awoken the others, the zombie's grip on the woman loosening significantly as Coach came barreling out of his hotel room and slammed into it in a manner much like his college ball years.

Nick followed in hot pursuit, wrenching the slimy tongue off of Rochelle and leaving her to tumble forward into Francis while Louis had managed to limp out and jam his fist into the side of the Smoker's face, expelling a rancid smell cloud of green as it wheezed.

The five were left to their own coughing fits, pawing blindly for one another and Rochelle's assailant. There came a gunshot followed by an angry hack, each of them ducking out of reflex.

The puff of gas dispelled slowly, giving Zoey enough time to shift her aim from the Smoker's wounded shoulder to its head, about to pull the trigger again only to be thrown off balance when another one of its tongues lashes out, this time looping around Francis.

"Aw, hell—!" the biker swore, gritting his teeth as the others were sent reeling on impact. The zombie began back-pedaling, its injured arm flailing as it veered toward the edge.

Louis was the first to snatch at it, Coach helping Nick and Rochelle back to their feet as Zoey grabbed at a black vest.

"Shit, hell, car!" he cried, the Smoker aiming for the railing.

They each failed to notice or mention the way Ellis practically tripped out to meet them, one hand clamped to his side as Coach and Louis' hands grabbed at nothing. The Smoker flung itself off of the walkway and threatened to take a struggling Francis with it; with no other options Nick dove at it, he and the men beside grabbing onto the tongue and leaving the Smoker suspended as the two women practically tackled the ensnared man.

To do his part, the mechanic reached forward and wound the arm that wasn't clutched to his chest around the 'awesome biker dude' and heaved himself backward. His whimpers of pain were lost amidst the shouts to not let go and not let the Smoker hit the alarmed car it was dangling above.

The damned thing was just being spiteful, really. Their grips on the tongue were already slipping and then its mottled, pupil-less eye met green ones.

"Oh, you little son of a bitch—" Nick cursed it.

And then it bit off its own tongue.

They were all sent onto their asses (Francis landed on Ellis, garnering a yell from the younger) and momentarily disoriented.

The sound of the alarm was deafening and the cry of the on-coming horde more so.

Over the din of screams and high-pitched wailing, Ellis could vaguely make out the hurried instructions of _grab shit and run!_ These were hurriedly followed as people scrambled to their feet, those that could dashing into nearby rooms and hoisting packs onto their backs and loading their arms with weapons.

They took off running and limping, dashing along the walkway and firing a few rounds down below or behind them as a few Infected got a bit too close for their liking. Nick vaulted himself through a broken window after Rochelle and then turned to snag the mechanic's wrist and yank the young Georgian after him.

The trip down the stairs wasn't overly 'fun,' and even Zoey reached out for him, her expression faltering at his current state of duress and blaming herself for his ruined stitches.

"Hurry up, y'all!" Coach shouted, firing into the mass of zombies as they scurried around to the back of the motel. Francis was quickly reloading his own shotgun as Nick released his grip on Ellis the slid a clip into the gun he'd extracted from his waistband. "And watch'cherself on this slope 'ere__—__shit!"

__"__Coach!"

Without much thought as to his own well-being, the other Savannahite tore away from the college dropout and flung himself at the elder man now tumbling down the steep hill, fingers just brushing against his sleeve before he too began falling.

"Ellis!"

The trip to the bottom was short yet painful, limbs flying every which way as he slid through the mud and gave himself a good few whacks, shouting all the way down it. He'd just rammed into Coach as the others came slip-sliding toward them, the horde beginning its own descent.

"C'mon, c'mon, get up!" the would-be reporter commanded, Ellis cursing into the mud as Nick hooked his hands under his armpits and took note of the way his eyes screwed shut in pain.

"Holy shit, you alright?" Louis was asking, taking a moment to open fire on the crowd rushing at them as Francis and Zoey helped heaved their eldest to his feet.

"Chat later!" the gambler growled, hoisting the youngest male up. "Let's just focus on getting the hell out of here!"

"This way!" Zoey barked, jerked her pistol (Nick hadn't decided to give it back to her yet, so where the hell did she get both of them?) in the general direction of what looked to be like another hill and a bunch of trees. The conman just exchanged a look with Rochelle that told him where she'd gotten the guns and scowled. Zoey clearly picked up on this. "Trust me!"

He ground his teeth but took off after her and the other anyway, practically dragging Ellis along. "I don't!"

The girl ignored this remark, too focused on getting up the next slope to grant him a smart response and grabbing at branches rather than his neck. Coach reached down and grabbed her hand and pulled her up as they reached the crest, Francis doing the same for Rochelle and Louis.

Nick practically threw Ellis over the edge.

Taking the rear, the suited man whirled around and shot at the Commons still stumbling after them, giving the others time to clear the fenced in lot they'd come into and make a beeline for the rather small storage shack in front of an amusement park the hick obviously recognized.

"'Ey, Whisperin' Oaks," he murmured, limping after Rochelle and Zoey as they charged into what they were going to deem their newest safe room, Nick coming up behind them quickly.

"Toldja we'd make it," Coach replied, clapping a hand on the younger man's back and then instantly regretting it at the flash of pain across his face. He didn't have any time to apologize for before a pair of hands shoved him through the door and dragged the boy in behind him.

Louis was leaning against the wall and panting, the beads of sweat on his forehead mirroring everyone else's as he grinned; Francis joined Nick in shoving a crates and crates against the door to serve as a blockade. It was Rochelle who first noticed Ellis collapsing in the corner and the first to verbalize her worry.

"Ellis!" she exclaimed, dropping her gun on another table and almost diving to the floor beside him. "What happened?"

Nick was, of course, one of the only ones to catch the flash of guilt that flickered through Zoey's eyes.

She made it a point to avoid his gaze and instead tore her bag from her back to begin digging through it.

"Stitches...side..." the boy wheezed, hand clamped to his still-healing wound. "I think I...tore...ow."

He swore up a storm then, his eyes screwed shut as the biker also crouched before him. "Hey kid, how many fingers?"

His eyelids fluttered open to momentarily take in the three digits being waved in front of his face and he frowned with a jokingly annoyed, "I dun like this game."

Ellis' chin ducked into his chest as Rochelle pawed at his side, leaving him to zone out to the tune of guttural yelps and fists pounding against the door.


End file.
